


The Light of a Pole Star

by Setari



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Ancient History, Maes Hughes Lives, Multi, Nina Tucker Lives, Past Lives, Recovered Memories, The Gate of Truth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-08
Updated: 2019-06-06
Packaged: 2020-02-28 12:00:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 28,943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18756028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Setari/pseuds/Setari
Summary: When Ed passes through the Gate, he comes out the other side with more than just knowledge."Whenever I hear old chronicles of love, its age-old pain,Its ancient tale of being apart or together.As I stare on and on into the past, in the end you emerge,Clad in the light of a pole-star piercing the darkness of time:You become an image of what is remembered forever."





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I 'Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings' because, as far as I'm concerned, given that nothing actually _happens_ between Roy and Ed until Ed is sixteen, giving this story the 'Underage' warning would be inaccurate. But there _is_ some flirting before that point, as well as an acknowledgement that they intend to become a couple once Ed is older.
> 
> The title, and the quote in the summary, come from the poem [Unending Love](https://allpoetry.com/Unending-Love) by Rabindranath Tagore.

Ed shouldn’t remember. Oh, there’s all the stuff the Gate shoved into his head that he remembers and Al doesn’t, and he probably shouldn’t remember that either, but that’s not- That is so far removed from him, such impersonal knowledge. It’s the same – he figures, anyway – for anyone who passes through the Gate. Just knowledge drilled into them soul-deep and agonising. It’s fine.

It’s the memories that bother Ed the most.

Because he _shouldn’t_ remember. He shouldn’t remember what Aerugonian wine tastes like, and he shouldn’t remember the customs of the Imperial Xingese Court, and he shouldn’t remember the exact combination of old parchment, dusty leather, and warm sand smells that permeated the Great Library of Xerxes. He’s never even left Risembool. He shouldn’t remember how to navigate Aquroya’s canals, or the back streets of Central City’s slums. He’s _Edward Elric_ , and yet he also remembers being Natan bin Mordechai, and Yi Feng, and Leon Blackburn, and Lucia Guardia, and Proteus of Atossa.

It’s too much for his eleven year old mind to hold. Centuries of memories, so many different versions of eleven. Eleven in Xerxes had been less than half way to adulthood, but eleven in Drachma had been old enough to start work as an apprentice. Sometimes he loses his childhood in Risembool in amongst climbing through Xingese orchards and scampering across the flat roofs of Ishval.

It isn’t until someone grabs him by the front of his shirt, hauls him up and shakes him, and he looks up into coal black eyes that he comes back to himself. Because he _knows_ those eyes. In different shapes and colours across the centuries, they’ve been there. They’d met in a library, in a sickroom, in a workshop, in an alley, in a bar, in the market, in a temple. So many differences, so many variables, but Ed – his name is _Edward Elric_ – latches onto the soul underneath, which has always remained constant.

It’s the anchor he needed. Even after Mustang’s left, it’s just easier to put the pieces into the right places inside his mind. He drags himself out of the mire of centuries, and demands automail from Granny. He can do this. He doesn’t know how, because he wasn’t always an alchemist – how could he not _always_ have been an alchemist?! – but he’s going to get Al’s body back. And Roy Mustang is going to help him.

He’s pretty sure everyone can tell something’s different, but Al puts it down to failing to bring Mum back, and Winry puts it down to the trauma of his injury, and Ed’s not entirely sure they’re wrong. It’s all of that, and maybe that’s why it’s so much harder to push the memories away. It’s easier remembering a life that isn’t really – is – his, than dwelling on what he’s done in this life.

“Okay, pipsqueak, spill it.” Granny commands, a couple of weeks into his recovery, when he’s sitting on the back porch, looking out over the fields and comparing them to the rice fields in Xing. Looking at his automail and comparing it to automobile engines.

“Who’re you calling _pipsqueak_ , tiny old hag?!” Ed snaps, turning to glower at Granny.

Granny glowers right back. “What’s wrong?”

“What do you _think_?” Ed retorts bitterly.

“If I knew that, I wouldn’t be asking.” Granny fires back without missing a beat. Then she sighs out a large cloud of smoke and puffs rapidly on her pipe for a moment. “You’ve got a lot to be upset about, I’ll grant, but I know you, Ed, and this isn’t what you’re like when you’re wallowing. This is what you’re like when you’re lost inside that big brain of yours.”

Ed snorts before he can help himself, because, okay, that’s accurate. And maybe… he can’t tell Al or Winry, he can’t burden them with this, but Granny… She’s lived through two of Ed’s lifetimes, more or less. “When were you born, Granny?” He asks.

“Eighteen-thirty-nine.” Granny replies, slow and confused. “Why?”

“Did you ever see much of the war with Aerugo?” Ed continues without answering.

After a beat of suspicious silence, Granny nods. “I saw a lot of soldiers come through while I was studying in Rush Valley. And I worked with the medics near the front for a few years when it got bad. That’s where I met my husband, as it happens.”

Ed smiles a little wistfully. “There’s this little town, not that far south from South City. Walston. You know it?” He begins, and Granny is outright frowning now, but she nods again. “It used to be over the border, but the military used their brand new horseless carriages to out-manoeuvre the Aerugonian troops and take it in 1874. It was pretty close to a river, which made it an ideal new base to operate from, so all the support people, the medics, the cooks, and of course their new engineers got carted in and dumped among the locals for the next however long it took to conquer the next town. Which was a recipe for trouble even ignoring the fact that the only place worth visiting in the evening was Valentino’s Bar.”

“I remember.” Granny murmured. “Ed, how the-”

“Oh, you were actually there?” Ed asks in surprise, blinking at Granny and trying to find a fiery automail mechanic in his memories. “Huh. Maybe we met.”

“What the _hell_ are you talking about, Edward?!” Granny snaps, losing her patience.

“You didn’t happen to meet an engineer by the name of Lexi Spitfire, did you?” Ed asks.

Granny stops, mouth open in preparation to demand more answers, and gives Ed a deeply unnerved look. “Short, curly brown hair, freckles, always bickering with the barkeep?” She asks.

“ _I was not short_!” Ed grouses. “I was _perfectly normal sized_ , thank you very much! Just because Aerugonians tend towards _unreasonably tall_ does not mean-” Granny makes a worrisome noise, kind of like a ‘glrhk’, and sits down heavily on the porch steps, staring up at Ed like she’s seen a ghost. “Granny?” Ed asks, maybe frets, a bit, because while he’d sort of hoped his knowledge of things he couldn’t possibly have been there to see would convince her he was telling the truth, he didn’t want to give her a heart attack.

“That was- _Fucking hell…_ ” Granny breathes, and then she shakes herself and goes right back to staring at Ed in shock. “I remember walking into that bar and hearing that _exact_ rant. Spitfire was trying to haul the barkeep over the bar-”

“And Val was being a _smug bastard_. ‘Oh, sorry, is it too far for you to reach? Should I lean down a little to make it easier?’” Ed quotes with a snarl. “Wasn’t so smug with a bruise the size of my fist around his pretty little eye, was he?”

“What the hell _happened_ , Ed?” Granny demands. “If you’re even still _Edward_ -!”

“I am!” Ed interrupts quickly. “Jeez, Granny, I think you’d have noticed if I wasn’t _me_ by now.”

“I thought so, too, but then you started talking like _someone else_!” Granny yelps.

Ed sighs, and looks back out over the fields of Risembool. “Not really. I mean, different name, different face, different life… same soul.” He pauses and shrugs. “I think. I didn’t exactly get an explanation. It was just suddenly all _there_ , in my head.”

Granny draws in a sharp breath, but she doesn’t yell. She doesn’t say anything for the longest time, and Ed lets it settle, lets her have the time to absorb everything he’s said. He thinks he remembers her, now, thinks he remembers toasting with her to the notion that machines are just better than men. Thinks he remembers drunken conversations about how automail works, how engines work, how many people they’d seen die already because their machines weren’t quite good _enough_. He thinks Val had cut them off at that point. He thinks he remembers Val carrying him – her – to bed and tucking her in like the fucking stupid sap he was under all that bullshit. “So… Spitfire’s dead, then? I had wondered.” Granny says finally.

“Yeah. 1889. Car crash.” Ed tells her.

Granny snorts. “Ironic.”

“Tell me about it.”

* * *

Central City is both familiar and not, and it takes Ed a day just to get his bearings. He goes for a walk, past the university, which is bigger than it used to be, and through the wealthy districts that are basically unchanged from two hundred years ago, and into the slums, which go from painfully familiar to completely wrong and back again every few alleys. He finds a brothel where he remembers a dilapidated ruin he’d slept in for several months as a child a long, long time ago, and pauses, staring at it and trying to get a grip on the sheer _irony_.

“Brother…” Al says, audibly judging him.

“What?!” Ed huffs. “I was looking at the _architecture_ , Al!”

“The architecture?” Someone drawls in a husky smoker’s rasp, and Ed turns to see an older woman leaning in the doorway, a cigarette between two perfectly manicured fingers. “Well, that’s a new one.”

“Could do with a few more gargoyles, if you ask me.” Ed informed her with a sharp grin. Given her age and her perfectly ostentatious make-up, he figures she’s the proprietress of the brothel. “You’d be the eponymous Madame Christmas, I guess?”

“That’s me.” She confirms. “And you’re _way_ too young to be a customer, kid.”

Ed snorts, because that’s _funny_. If he adds up everything he _remembers_ , he’s more than five hundred years old. “Not looking for work, either.” He points out dryly.

“Good.” Madame Christmas says, with a whole weight of emphasis behind her words. “The hell are you doing in this part of town, then, kid?” She demands. Doesn’t mince words, this one. Ed decides he kinda likes her.

“Just looking around. Getting a feel for the city.” Ed answers.

“You should go home.” Madame Christmas instructs, in a tone that very much expects to be obeyed. Ed’s never really responded to that sort of tone. Not in this life, not in any other.

“Eh.” He shrugs. “Don’t feel like it.” That earns him a glower, and replies with another knife-sharp grin, just _daring_ the woman to push the issue. She blows out a tight stream of smoke, rolls her eyes, and capitulates with a long drag of her cigarette. “Besides, the guy we’re staying with is a fucking creep, so I’ll take any excuse to get out of there for a while.”

“Oh?” Madame Christmas prompts, one eyebrow arching slowly.

“Brother, Mr Tucker isn’t _that_ bad.” Al protests, but it’s weak and they both know it.

Madame Christmas’s other eyebrow rises to join the first. “What’s he done?”

“Nothing.” Ed waves a vague hand in the air. “It’s not… He’s fucking _shifty_. He won’t look at me head-on, he’s nervous all the damn time, except when he thinks no one’s looking at him, and then he gets this- this _sharp_ look, like there’s broken glass behind his eyes. You know what I mean?”

“Oh, yeah.” Madame Christmas confirms, and she’s watching Ed with her own sort of sharp look, now, only this one doesn’t give him the creeps at all. “We see a lot of men on the edge of doing something dangerous in our line of work.”

“ _Exactly_.” Ed agrees, pointing at her.

“Fair enough, kid.” Another puff of the cigarette, and then she stubs the butt out in a little portable ashtray she pulled out of her pocket. “But there are better places to sight-see in this city. Safer places.” She informs him, giving him a pointed look. “So get out of here.”

Ed accepts that, and turns to go, but hesitates, and turns back a moment later. “Just out of curiosity, do you employ boys here, or just girls?” He asks.

“ _Brother!_ ” Al yelps.

Madame Christmas gives him a clinical once-over, and then a dryly amused look. “Come back in about five years, kid,” she tells him, “and I’d have people paying through the nose for you.” Al gives a scandalised sort of squeak, but Ed’s just mildly flattered by that assessment.

“I told you I’m not looking for work. I was just curious.” Ed corrects, marvelling at the strange synchronicity of his different lives. “Klaus would’ve laughed himself sick if he could see this.” He muses quietly, but not quietly enough, apparently.

“Klaus?” Madame Christmas prompts.

Ed shakes his head. “No one, just… just an old friend, sort of.”

Madame Christmas gives him a deeply sceptical look. “You’re _way_ too young to be talking like that, kid.” She informs him, and Ed shrugs, because he can’t exactly argue without looking insane. Instead of saying anything, he just waves, and sets off down the street.

“What on earth were you talking about, Brother?” Al asks once they’re well out of earshot of the brothel. “We’ve never known anyone called Klaus.”

“Says you.” Ed retorts. “I could have friends you don’t know about.”

“No, you really couldn’t, Brother.” Al says, deadpan.

“Ouch.” Ed laughs, and then sobers up as he tries to figure out how much he ought to tell Al. “It’s just… something I remember, from- from the Gate.” He says eventually, shoving his hands into his pockets and slouching a little. He doesn’t know why Al doesn’t have the same problem as him. Maybe because he doesn’t remember the Gate at all, but that doesn’t seem right to Ed. The only thing he can figure is that he remembers because the Gate pulled him apart, pulled him _open_ and everything that had been wrapped up inside had spilled out, all the things imprinted on his soul but tucked away out of sight had been laid bare and forced into the light. But he doesn’t know, and surely if that was the case, Al should remember, too, whether or not he remembers it _happening_.

“Oh.” Al says quietly. They walk in silence for several long minutes. “The Gate showed you… things to do with… with prostitutes?” He asks eventually.

Ed huffs a laugh that doesn’t have much humour in it. “Sort of. I don’t really want to talk about it.”

“Okay, Brother.” Al agrees. “But if you… if you ever do, you know I’ll listen, right?”

“Of course, Al.” Ed confirms, rapping his knuckles lightly against the side of Al’s breastplate. “Come on, I’ll race you back to the main street.” He says, and then bolts, laughing at Al’s indignant cries of ‘BROTHER!’ echoing behind him.

* * *

_“Met your new recruit today.”_

_“What?!”_

_“Mmhm. Weird kid.”_

_“Weird… how?”_

_“He’s a lot more grown-up than he looks.”_

_“Yes, well, I knew that much.”_

_“Also said he got a_ bad _feeling about that Tucker bloke.”_

_“Really? That’s interesting.”_

_“Very. Articulated it well, too. You’d think he’d seen people that fucked up before.”_

_“Fucked up?”_

_“I’ll talk to Helen about it, see if she can’t give me some better insight.”_

_“I see.”_

_“Perhaps you ought to look in on the man, too. Make sure he’s doing okay.”_

_“I will. And what exactly was Edward doing in your part of town, anyway?”_

_“Sightseeing.”_

_“…Sightseeing.”_

_“Mmhm. Stopped to appreciate the architecture.”_

_“The… architecture?”_

_“Thinks we should add some gargoyles to the front of the place.”_

_“Good heavens. I hope you’re not going to take his advice.”_

_“Mmm…”_

_“Madame…!”_

_“Heh, don’t get your panties in a bunch, Roy-Boy. No; no gargoyles.”_

_“Good. I’ll see you soon.”_

_“You’d better. Good luck.”_

_“And to you as well, Madame.”_

* * *

Ed feels sick. Ed has seen a lot of awful things before, but there’s something so much more awful about the botched, mangled chimera that used to be Nina Tucker. Maybe it’s because all those memories are… just a little detached. Old and faded and worn. This is immediate, right in his face, so starkly fresh that he can still smell the ozone of the transmutation.

There’s a bang upstairs, footsteps, and Al calls out, shouts for help, maybe. Ed’s barely paying attention, because he can barely _breathe_ , and his mind is _racing_. Because while he can’t _clearly_ remember the knowledge the gate pounded into his head, he _does_ remember five different lifetimes of learning alchemy, and there has to be _something_ in there that could _help_.

“ _Shit_.” Ed’s head snaps around to stare. Roy is standing at the bottom of the stairs, looking into Tucker’s lab and staring in pale-faced horror at the whimpering chimera in the middle of the room. “Where’s Tucker?” He asks, the moment he registers that Ed is looking at him.

“We- we knocked him out and put him in one of the cages.” Al informs Roy, because Ed can’t find his tongue. Can’t find even a scrap of attention for anything happening in this century. He’s back in Xerxes. Back in Xing. Because Xerxes hadn’t had laws against human transmutation like Amestris does, their concept of biological alchemy had been _entirely_ different, and possibly – probably – more accurate. And Xingese alkahestry was focused on and centered around _healing_ , the body _and_ the soul, in harmony.

Pieces start coming together in Ed’s mind, and he scrambles up. “Edward?!” Roy demands, as Ed lunges for the desk. “Brother?!” Al yelps, when Ed comes up with a piece of chalk. He needs to draw this one out, because it’s so, so fragile, so _tenuous_ , and if he’s wrong- He needs to draw it out to make sure he’s not wrong.

“Get Nina out of the way, Al.” Ed orders, dropping to his knees and clapping to clear the array already laid out in chalk. Nina-the-chimera flinches, whines like a beaten dog, and Al leaves off questioning Ed in favour of coaxing Nina out of the way.

“Edward, what on earth do you think you’re doing?” Roy demands, stepping up to Ed’s shoulder as he starts drawing out the array.

“Tryna fix it.”

“Edward, there is no fixing it.” Roy tells him, stern and aching. “You can’t undo a completed transmutation.”

“It’s _not_ complete.” Ed retorts. “Bungled patch job piece of shit. Soul’s out of alignment with the body. Shit, Tucker didn’t even _account_ for souls in his circle. Did he even _study_ anatomy? I mean, shit. No, that’s wrong-” Ed scrubs out the beginnings of a sigil and steps back for a moment, eyeing the circle. “If you account for the lóng de màibó, there needs to be-” Nodding, Ed dives back in again, putting the details into place in a flurry of inspiration.

“The what?” Roy asks.

It’s a good thing Ed’s almost done, because that question knocks him clean out of his head-space. For a moment, he sees double when he looks up at Roy. Fuller lips painted blood red, longer hair bound back with jade hairpins carved to look like plum blossoms and butterflies, narrower face that only emphasised the cunning behind dark eyes. But this is Roy, not Xiaoli, and of _course_ he doesn’t know what the Dragon’s Pulse is.

“It’s a- Never mind.” Ed shakes his head and finishes the array. “Okay. Okay, Nina?” He calls, turning to where Al and Nina are crouched together at the edge of the room. “Hey, Nina. I think- I think I can make it stop hurting, if you’d like?” He offers.

“Big brother?” Nina rasps, and Ed’s heart breaks.

“Yeah. Could you come here a sec?” Ed asks, and Nina gets up and staggers over, butting her head against his chest and whining. “Hey, it’s going to be okay. Big brother will make it better.” He promises, and drops a kiss onto her shaggy head before backing away. “Stay right there a sec, okay?” He prompts, when she makes to come after him. She whines, but sits down hesitantly.

“Edward, are you sure…?” Roy asks.

Ed chews on his lip. “Eighty-two percent.”

“Brother, isn’t this… this is human transmutation.” Al protests weakly, coming to stand beside Ed.

“Technically? Maybe not.” Ed hedges.

“What do you mean?” Al demands, bewildered.

“Technically, if Tucker could get her _here_ without having to face the gate, then I should be able to… well, to _heal_ her without crossing that line, too. I don’t think I can… I can’t make her _human_ again, is the thing, but I think- I’m pretty sure I can make her… better.” Ed tries to explain. Then, before he can second-guess himself, he drops to his knees and places his fingers on the edge of the circle. It immediately lights up bright white-blue, and Nina _screams_.

Ed screws his eyes shut, because he _knows_ that sometimes healing hurts, but this is worse than anything he’s seen before. Not surprising, given that her entire body is a patchwork mess that needs streamlining.

The light dies, the screaming stops, to be replaced with the harsh, wet, gasping sobs of a child. “Nina?!” Ed calls.

“B-big brother?!” Nina calls back, all herself, without any rough, raspy dog-vocals. Ed goes boneless, even as Al and Roy both gasp. He scrubs out part of the outer circle to make sure the array can’t be reactivated, and then crawls forward to where Nina is naked and shivering on the floor.

“Hey, hey there.” Ed murmurs as he scoops her up and cradles her against his chest. “Does it still hurt, Nina? Can you- can you tell me if it hurts?”

Nina presses her face into his chest and sobs, but she’s shaking her head as she does it. “No. It hurt so bad, but- but it’s b-better now.” She mumbles weakly, and then dissolves into wailing, crying so hard she’s shaking with it. Ed looks down at her and grimaces. He’d been right when he said he couldn’t make Nina human again. Her proportions are just a little off, and she’s got a fine coat of golden-red fur over her back and limbs and climbing up her neck, and her nails look more like claws, and Ed’s pretty sure she’s got a tail now. But she’s not in pain anymore, and that’s all Ed could ask for.

Dark cloth appears in Ed’s vision, and he looks up to see Roy offering him his black great coat. Trying for a smile of gratitude and falling miles short, Ed takes it and bundles Nina up in it. They wait in silence as Nina cries herself out and then falls asleep still half in Ed’s lap and half on the floor. “Let me-” Roy murmurs softly, and Ed doesn’t even hesitate to let him scoop Nina up into his arms. He clambers to his feet and stares at her tear-streaked sleeping face. Her face, at least, looks mostly normal, although there’s something about the shape of her eyes that looks not-quite-right.

“Where are you going to take her?” Al asks, and Ed snaps to attention at the thread of fear and steel he hears in his brother’s tone.

He looks up at Roy, and Roy looks back with a pained grimace. “Somewhere she’ll be safe, I promise.” He swears.

“ _Where_?” Al presses, sharp and high and _angry_. “Because I _know_ you know what the military would do with her if-”

Roy gives a singularly humourless laugh. “You don’t need to worry, Alphonse. As far as any official report goes…” He trails off and glances towards the stairs. Only then does Ed even realise that Hughes and Hawkeye came with Roy. He scrubs at one eye and wonders at how bad his tunnel vision had gotten.

“Unless we can come up with a suitably convincing mess, I think we’d best go with missing.” Hughes interjects grimly.

“We could vaporise _him_.” Ed suggests darkly, jerking his thumb at Tucker.

Roy looks startled, and then thoughtful. “Claim it was Nina and that Tucker fled, and then at least the manhunt would be for someone they’re _definitely_ not going to find. I’ll… handle that when I get back.” He sighs, looking down at Nina.

“Back from where?” Al asks belligerently.

“My mother’s.” Roy replies wryly, and all the fight goes out of Al. “She’ll take good care of Nina.”

“Let me take her.” Hughes interjects. “You need to be done with him when Military Police catch up.”

Roy nods, and hands Nina over. Hughes cradles her like she’s precious, and there’s a momentary look of heartbreak on his face. Then he’s gone, back up the stairs, and Roy is turning towards Tucker. “Hawkeye, if you could take the Elrics upstairs? I’ll join you in a few minutes.

“Sir.” Hawkeye replies, and then turns and gestures for Ed and Al to precede her up the stairs. Al moves towards her, but Ed doesn’t. “Edward?” Hawkeye prompts, her tone surprisingly gentle. It really doesn’t help with the sick feeling bubbling in Ed’s gut.

“Do you know how to make it look like a failed human transmutation?” He asks Roy.

Roy goes still, and hesitates long enough to answer that Ed doesn’t need him to actually say the words. “Not specifically, but I can make a good enough guess.” Roy says finally, decisively enough that if Ed didn’t remember, if he hadn’t had nearly a dozen adulthoods to draw on, he might have let it nudge him from the room. But he did, so he doesn’t.

“Not as good as I can.” Ed points out.

“Brother!” Alphonse protests, horrified.

“It’s _fine_ , Al.” Ed snaps. It’s not, it’s so far beyond _not fine_ it’s not even funny, but Ed’s been in the military three times before. He’s seen how ruthless they can be, how gleefully malicious they can be. He remembers how casually they can toss aside the lives of even their own people. If there’s _anything –_ anything at _all_ – that he can do to protect Nina from that, he’ll do it.

“You don’t have to do this, Edward.” Roy tells him, quiet and solemn.

“No, but I’m going to anyway.” Ed replies, meeting his gaze. “I couldn’t save Nina, but maybe- maybe I can help keep her a little bit safer now.” He hesitates, but this is Roy. This is Val and Malka and Klaus and Xiaoli and Dimka and Huang. If he can’t trust them, he can’t trust _anybody_. “I- I don’t think I can… kill him, though. Can-”

Roy looks like Ed just stabbed him. “I can handle that part, Edward.” He assures him.

“Yay, teamwork.” Ed jokes weakly. Roy flashes him a smile that’s hollow, but his eyes are touched with gallows humour, so Ed will take it. “You should- you should go with Hawkeye, Al. You- you don’t need to see this.” He says.

“I hate that you keep hurting yourself to protect me from things.” Al tells him, in a quiet, wounded voice that stabs straight to Ed’s core.

“Tough shit.” Ed replies, a little more brusquely than he meant to, what with the sharp pain in his heart. “I’m the big brother, that’s my _job_.” Al gives an angry grumble, but he leaves with Hawkeye. Ed shares one more weary, determined look with Roy, and then they get to work.


	2. Chapter 2

Roy doesn’t know what to make of Edward Elric. Most of the time, he seems like your average traumatised child prodigy. A little arrogant, a lot determined, a bit impulsive and, heh, _short_ -tempered. But there are moments – frequent, odd little moments – where it feels a little like there’s something ancient looking out through Edward’s eyes.

Never in his life would Roy have dreamed of asking any child to recreate the scene of their trauma, but Edward had shouldered the burden, and asked for help when he needed to without shame or the bravado Roy had come to expect. He’d acted like a _soldier_ , and he’d turned a body inside out – and vaporised parts of it – without faltering more than once. Only after it was done had he thrown up and started shaking. Roy had gotten him out of that room quickly, but he’d hesitated to take Edward to join Riza and Alphonse straight away. And that had apparently been the right choice, because after a few minutes, Edward had let out a shuddery breath, leaned against Roy’s side briefly, and muttered ‘Thanks’ before heading out to reassure his brother.

That’s the other disturbing thing about Edward. For some inexplicable reason, he’s decided he trusts Roy. He just up and decided to trust the military dog who’s shady enough to recruit an eleven year old. And if Edward ever really acted his age, or showed even the smallest inclination for naivety, Roy might put it down to a childish trust in authority figures. But Edward uniformly rebels against authority, and makes no secret of the fact that he dislikes the military immensely. And yet… and yet he _trusts Roy_.

It just doesn’t make any _sense_.

 _Think of the devil, and he shall appear._ As if his thoughts had summoned him, Roy hears the characteristic thump-stamp-thump-stamp-thump-BANG-thunk of Edward’s return to the office. “Must you always kick the door like that, FullMetal?” Roy sighs, because it’s easier to complain about the abuse the poor door is suffering than to think about his mother’s voice saying ‘he’s a lot more grown-up than he looks’ and wondering if she saw that ancient thing behind Edward’s eyes, too.

“Fuck off, bastard. Hey guys. We brought coffee. Didn’t know what you all like, so there’s some packets of sugar and devil-juice, too. Whatever.” Edward announces while Alphonse shuffles through the door sheepishly and deposits half a dozen to-go cups of life-blood from the good café two streets away on the corner of Havoc’s desk. Predictably, the entire team descends on the non-military non-cafeteria coffee like a swarm of locusts. Edward yelps and scrambles to grab two of the cups before getting the hell out of dodge.

“Hey, you drinking _both_ of those, Boss?” Havoc asks, giving Ed a dubiously concerned look.

“ _No_.” Edward insists, glowering without much heat behind it. “This one’s for the bastard.” He explains, lifting one of the cups in the air to indicate, and then stomping over to Roy’s desk, depositing the coffee on top of the report Roy was reading, and then throwing himself down onto the couch like he always does.

“What if I want milk in it?” Roy challenges dryly.

Edward gives him the stink-eye, opens his mouth, and then, curiously, falters before whatever retort is clearly on the tip of his tongue can fall out of his mouth. He grimaces, hides the expression behind his cup, and only answers once he’s swallowed. “But it’ll clash with the aconite.” He snarks.

Roy really wants to know what Edward was going to say that he thought _that_ was an improvement on, but he decides not to ask. “Attempting to poison your superior officer already, FullMetal?” He asks instead, while very pointedly lifting the cup and taking an easy sip. It _does_ taste very good without any extra condiments. It is also very definitely _not_ plain black coffee. It’s minty, and chocolatey, and _decadent_. Roy takes another sip and savours it, feeling more awake already.

“I know it takes the average grunt a couple of years to reach that stage of fuck it, but you know me; I’m an overachiever.” Edward sallies back without missing a beat, this time.

“If _that’s_ the case, I’m afraid the rest of my team must be slacking.” Roy murmurs, amused.

“Except Hawkeye.” Edward grins from behind his mug.

“Speaking of which!” Roy begins, sitting up and leaning forward over his work with a show of alacrity that makes Edward snort coffee out his nose. While he’s spluttering and cursing Roy’s ancestors to hell and back again, Roy digs up the forms Edward has yet again failed to fill out. “You do actually need to fill these out, FullMetal.”

“Fuck you.” Edward retorts, but he takes the papers anyway. Of course, instead of doing anything as sensible as fetching a pen, Roy sees Edward’s eyes flick down to the bottom left corner. A grin spreads across his face. “Got bored in a meeting, did you?” Edward snickers.

“It’s not my fault none of the brass are pretty enough to be properly captivating.” Roy fires back flippantly.

“The little horns are a nice touch.” Edward compliments through a shit-eating grin. The smile slips sideways suddenly, into something strangely soft, and that ancient thing is back in his eyes. “Maybe you should quit the military and take up art instead.” His voice is still full of cheerful irreverence, no matter how much it doesn’t match his expression anymore.

“Unfortunately, I think I’d get distracted.” Roy sighs melodramatically.

Edward rolls his eyes, but he still looks… oddly soft. Fond, maybe “Idiot. It’s actually stupid fun to alchemise paint. Apparently it makes the pigment brighter, too, so, hey, win-win.”

Roy raises his eyebrows. “If I remember correctly, that was something of a fashion in Aerugo several hundred years ago. Entertaining dreams of being a renaissance artist, FullMetal?”

Edward startles, looking for a moment as if the conversation just threw him a curveball, instead of a perfectly reasonable continuation. Then he shakes himself and snorts. “No. It’d suit you, though, bastard. You’ve already got the melodrama down.” He mocks. Then he puts the back of his hand against his forehead and pretends to swoon. “Oh, I just can’t _work_ like this! The _angles_ are wrong! The colours are _dull_! It’s just _boring_. Won’t someone come and massage my shoulders and pass me the wine that’s just three inches away from my fingertips?”

The entire team is roaring with laughter. “Well,” Roy muses, fighting his own snicker, “if the only other person in the room was the model for my painting, that sounds like an excellent excuse to get a beautiful person within touching distance.” He points out.

There’s more laughter, but Edward goes a little wide-eyed and pink-cheeked before he joins in. “See? I was right.” He huffs between chuckles. “You’d fit right in.”

Riza clears her throat. A glance tells Roy that even though she’s trying to look stern, there’s a smile tugging at one corner of her lips. “Unfortunately, this isn’t medieval Aerugo, and _some people_ have work to do.” She reminds them.

Roy groans.

* * *

Alphonse watches his brother leaf through the multitude of books he’d borrowed from the East City Library, feeling… disconcerted. There’s something going on that Ed’s not telling him about, and it’s got _something_ to do with Colonel Mustang. At first, Alphonse had missed it, because the meeting had been so brief, and he’d been in his own slump, but afterwards, after how _easily_ his brother had trusted a scheming military dog with _Nina_ , he remembered that Ed hadn’t pulled out of his strange dissociative state until _after_ Mustang had appeared.

And now the _coffee thing_.

Alphonse had been the one to suggest bringing coffee on their way into the office, and Ed hadn’t seemed to care until Alphonse had started fretting about not knowing what everyone liked. Then he’d stepped in and ordered one chocolate-coffee with extra sugar – for himself, Alphonse knew – five plain black coffees – for the team, Alphonse guessed, except… – and one mint-chocolate-coffee.

“Who’s that for?” Alphonse asked.

“Colonel Bastard, of course.” Ed said, as if it was obvious.

Alphonse had let it stand, played along, because most of the time, the _worst_ thing to do was to confront Brother over something he wanted to ignore. Then he got stubborn and ignored it for even longer than was sensible just to prove he could handle it, or some other such nonsense. So he bit his tongue, and watched. And the thing that really, really bothered Alphonse was that it had been so obvious that the Colonel had _not_ been expecting anything special, but he’d _savoured_ it. He’d _liked it_. And Ed just _shouldn’t_ know, off-hand and easy, what sort of coffee the Colonel prefers.

But, of course, Brother is being stubborn about it, so Alphonse isn’t quite sure what to do. He could leave it, let Ed explain in his own time, but… but the problem with that is that Alphonse really isn’t comfortable with how much Ed trusts the Colonel without knowing _why_. So he’s going to have to ask, and hope Brother doesn’t clam up about it even more.

“Brother?” Alphonse asks, and then waits for confirmation that he’s been heard. He knows what Ed can get like when he’s reading.

“Mm?” Ed hums, and then, when there’s nothing more forthcoming, drags himself a little further out of the book, enough to look up and _actually_ give Alphonse his attention. “What’s up, Al?”

“Why do you trust the Colonel so much?” Alphonse asks, bluntly, because Ed’s reaction to such an attack should be very informative.

Sure enough, Ed looks confused for just a moment, before his eyes widen with that ‘oh damn I’m caught’ sort of look that still makes Alphonse ache because usually only Mum could inspire that expression in Brother. With everyone else he just got belligerent. Except now, after everything, it seems Alphonse can manage it, too. “What do you mean?” Ed deflects. Poorly.

Alphonse does his best to radiate disappointment at Ed’s terrible lying. “You know exactly what I mean.” He huffs.

And Ed deflates. “Yeah. It’s just… it’s- it’s complicated, Al, and I- I don’t want you to think-”

“Think what?” Alphonse presses, but gently. Now that Ed’s talking, the last thing he wants to do is put Ed on the defensive.

“That I’m- that _you’re_ \- not important to me.”

Alphonse takes a moment to process that, to parse it from Edward-speak into something actually coherent, and feels something maybe like incredulity bubble through his- well, through his soul, he supposes. “Brother… do you have a _crush_ on the Colonel?” He asks in disbelief. Ed blinks once, twice, and then, unbelievably, _laughs_. “Brother!” Alphonse whines, indignant. “Don’t laugh! It’s a fair _question_ , when you start saying things like that!”

“No, no, I’m not- You’re right, I’m not laughing at _you_ , Al, I swear.” Ed snickers.

“Then what’s funny?” Alphonse asks, relaxing a little.

“So, okay, that wasn’t quite what I was getting at, but it’s as good a segue as any, so; Al,” Ed says, very seriously, even if he is still trying not to laugh, “Al, Roy’s my _soulmate_.”

Alphonse has to take a moment to process that, too. Because Ed doesn’t _believe_ in things like soulmates, or love at first sight, or, really, romance at all. So, if he’s not using the word in the romantic sense, then… Well, they do have empirical evidence that souls exist, so… “What do you- No, I mean; _How_ do you know that?” Alphonse corrects himself, because he’s got an idea _what_ Brother means, he just has no idea how Ed _came_ to that conclusion.

“Because-” Ed begins, and then falters, looking faintly overwhelmed. Then he scrubs his flesh hand over his face and sets his jaw. It’s a familiar expression, a ‘we’re going to get to the bottom of this’ expression that reassures Alphonse more than anything. “Because I remember him. He’s the only thing that stays the same.” Ed states.

Alphonse knows that’s his cue to ask questions until that ridiculously incomprehensible answer makes sense. He considers all sorts of questions. ‘What do you mean’ is too vague, and ‘remember him from when’ is only going to get him a rephrasing of what Ed’s already said – ‘from always, Al, I just said that’ – so instead, he asks; “Stays the same through what?”

“My lives.” Ed answers, watching Alphonse carefully, almost warily.

“Your-” Alphonse stops himself from just repeating that, because Ed knows what he said, he _meant_ what he said, so parroting it back to him isn’t going to help. “You’re talking about… reincarnation? Recycling souls through multiple lives?”

“Yeah.”

“And you… you’re saying you _remember_ your previous lives?”

“Yeah.”

Alphonse is not an idiot. He is, in fact, a genius. “Since the gate?”

Ed looks relieved. “Since the gate.” He confirms. “It’s- I don’t understand why it happened to me and not to you, because _you_ went through the Gate, too, but… It’s as if when it pulled me apart, it… exposed all the stuff that I’m not supposed to remember, all the parts of me that aren’t… _me_.” Ed’s hand migrates from scrubbing his face to raking through his hair and messing up his braid.

Well, that actually explains _so much_. Like how Granny had been behaving around Ed before they left. She’d still been nannying Alphonse, even though he was six foot tall now, but she’d treated Ed like somehow what they’d gone through had made him an adult. Because, in a way, it kind of had. Or, at least, it had woken up the parts of Ed that had been an adult before. “Oh! Is that Klaus person from one of your past lives?” He exclaims in a moment of sudden understanding.

Ed snorts. “Yeah, Al. Klaus was Roy. Or… Roy was Klaus, once.”

“Oh!” Alphonse breaths, clarity dawning, and then, just as quickly, becoming obscured again by confusion. “Wait, how do you _know_ that?”

“I don’t know.” Ed admits grumpily. “It’s just… I looked at him, and I _recognised_ him. I _knew_ him. That’s like- Al, that’s like someone asking you ‘but how do you _know_ that Ed’s your brother?’”

“Because you look the same.” Alphonse answered at once, even though he knew that wasn’t the whole truth.

“Well, yeah, but I don’t have to look identical to the last time you saw me for you to recognise me. You recognise my voice, and my gestures, and my- my _me-ness_.” Ed insists, hands gesturing vaguely in the air. Alphonse silently judges him for his abuse of the Amestrian language. “Shut up, you know what I mean.” Ed huffs.

“I do.” Alphonse capitulates. He lets the silence settle for a moment, thinking carefully about everything Ed’s said so far. It’s hard to believe, hard to wrap his mind around, but he doesn’t _not_ believe Ed. Too much of the weirdness can be explained this way for him to just dismiss it. Still, he’d like a little more confirmation. “You told Granny, didn’t you?” He asks slowly.

“Yeah. I figured- I figured since she’s old as dirt, I could maybe convince her by, you know, sharing knowledge of the time and shit.” Ed explains. “Turns out, I actually met her in my last life.”

Alphonse is going to have to call Granny and confirm, because that sounds like a pretty huge coincidence. “Who- I mean, what were you like?” He asks carefully, wanting more information for Granny to corroborate.

“It’s fine, you can ask ‘who were you’” Ed assures him. Alphonse huffs, and Ed gets on with actually answering the question. “I was an engineer. Actually helped invent the first car. Sort of, they didn’t really look all that much like what we’ve got now, and the engines in cars today are pretty different, but- Yeah.”

“An engineer.” Alphonse repeats.

“…Yeah?” Ed replies, warily. “Al, what?”

“So, basically a mechanic.” Alphonse rephrases.

Ed pulls a face. “Sort of. I mean, I _could_ fix the damn things, so that’s what I was hauled out to the front to do, but I was _designing_ the things, not-”

 _“_ I’m telling Winry.” Alphonse informs him.

Ed’s expression of outraged betrayal is _sweet indeed_. “Don’t you _dare_!”

“I’m telling Winry that you _invented engines_ in your last life, but somehow you still can’t understand even the basics of how _your own automail_ even _works-_ ”

“You _traitor_ !” Ed howls, throwing a book at Alphonse. Al catches it and _judges_ his brother for throwing books. Ed slumps down in his chair in a huff, arms crossed and scowl firmly in place. “And I can too understand the _basics_ . Just because I’m not an automail genius _as well_ as an alchemy genius-” Alphonse snickers, and Ed grumbles imprecations under his breath.

* * *

The last thing Izumi was expecting today was a phone call from one of the Elric boys. It’s been so long by now that getting a call from them is less an expected social courtesy and more a cause for concern, but she’s still glad to hear from them. She’d worried, a little, when months rolled by without hearing anything from them after they went back home.

So when Sig leans around the door to the living room, carrying the phone in one hand and the receiver in mid-air in the other, and says “It’s Alphonse,” she sits bolt upright with a mixture of pleasure and panic. Sig offers her the receiver, and she more or less snatches it, which makes him smile faintly as he puts the phone down on the table, the cord pulling almost too taut through the doorway and turning into a massive tripping hazard.

“Alphonse?” Izumi questions, bringing the receiver to her ear.

“Teacher!” Alphonse greets, bright and pleased, and Izumi relaxes a little. If Alphonse can sound that cheerful, it’s at least not an _immediate_ disaster. “How have you been? I’m so sorry not to have called before, that was rude of us.”

Izumi smiles, even as she narrows her eyes at nothing. An apology, but no _explanation_ , which feels like Alphonse’s subtle attempt at a _dodge_. “I’ve been fine. Same as ever. What about you? And Edward? What have you boys been up to?”

“We’re good. We’re fine.” Alphonse says quickly. Too quickly. “We haven’t been up to much at all! Just- just studying. Alchemy.”

“Uh-huh.” Izumi drawls, making sure that every ounce of her deeply unimpressed scepticism comes through across the telephone lines.

“Which is actually what I called you about!” Alphonse presses on. “I have a question, and I’m not sure where to even begin looking for an answer, and- and, well, I thought you might be able to help. At least point me in a sensible direction.”

Izumi settles back into the big squishy armchair more comfortably. She’ll play along for the moment, but she’s certainly not going to forget that Alphonse was _clearly_ hiding something from her. “Well, I’ll do my best.” She offers.

“So, I’ve been, um, looking into theoretical alchemy a bit lately. Really, very, massively theoretical alchemy.” Alphonse insists. Oh, Izumi has a _bad_ feeling about this, but she ‘mm-hm’s into the phone to encourage him on. “And, well, a bit of philosophy, too, actually. Just… idle research, you know, except- Well-” He stumbles. Embarrassed, as well as hiding something, Izumi thinks.

“Spit it out, Alphonse.” Izumi encourages.

“I’ve been looking into the theory of reincarnation.” Alphonse blurts out.

Izumi goes _cold_. “Have you?” She asks, and she’s surprised at how even her voice sounds.

“Y-yes. And, see… I was… well, I was wondering, purely hypothetically, you see, if- All the resources I can find talk about the cycle of rebirth, of souls re-entering the world as a new person, but… there’s nothing on… on whether souls are a finite resource, or if, say, for example, new souls might be being born, too, souls that- that don’t _have_ any past lives.”

Izumi might not be a genius of the same calibre as the Elric brothers, but she’s not _stupid_. For Alphonse to be asking such a _specific_ ‘hypothetical’ question, he and _at least_ one other person must have committed taboo and spoken about it. They must have compared experiences, for Alphonse to be worried about the fact that one of them had had a vastly different experience to the other.

And where one Elric is doing unspeakably foolish things, the other is bound to be close behind.

Taking a deep breath, Izumi decides that there’s no way she’s getting into this over the phone. She is going to need to see them in person to give them the _thrashing_ they deserve. “Alphonse.” She says slowly, and hears Alphonse suck in a sharp breath. “Where exactly are you and Edward right now?”

“U-um… in Central City?”

“Which hotel?”

That was definitely a guilty ‘urk’ sound he just made. “The… um, the Military Barracks?”

…She’ll kick their asses for _that,_ too. Fuck _everything_ , but they’re only just barely _teenagers_. They’re so damn _young_ , what the bloody _hell_ are they doing in the _Military Barracks_?

“I’ll be there tomorrow. _Don’t. Go. Anywhere._ ”

“But-!”

Izumi hangs up the phone with a satisfying _clatter-clang_. Then she spends several minutes just sitting there, glaring at it and measuring her breathing to tamp her temper down into something that will survive an overnight train-ride without burning itself out.

“Where are we going?” Sig asks softly.

Izumi turns to him, takes a moment to really just look at him, to soak up his beloved features, and look past beautiful brown eyes to the soul beneath. The soul that has looked at her and loved her through blue eyes and green eyes and grey eyes and black eyes and red eyes and hazel eyes in a variety of different combinations. There was one time she remembers he had one blue eye and one eye that was split neatly down the middle between blue and brown.

“What are you remembering?” Sig asks, smiling and reaching up to cup the side of her face.

“Creta. Sometime in the middle of the sixth century. The day I met a beautiful blacksmith with half a brown eye. You were so caught up staring at me you nearly dropped an anvil on your foot.” Izumi tells him, remembering the moment with perfect clarity. “Of course, I was so caught up staring right back at you that I walked clear into an iron beam. You offered to fix the new dent in my helmet for free.”

“Of course.” Sig agrees, nodding as if that was the only thing that made sense. Izumi grins, but the moment fades quickly in the face of the painful reality. “What is it?”

“The Elrics performed human transmutation.” Izumi tells him, and Sig’s expression falls into sorrowful, solemn lines. “Alphonse called to ask about reincarnation, and why someone might _not_ remember their past lives.”

Sig sighs, and gives her a look that she knows means he’s wishing she wouldn’t go haring off across the country to kick the asses of her troublesome students, but he doesn’t say it, and Izumi loves him so much for that. “Where should I get tickets to?” He asks, instead.

“Central City Center.”

* * *

Chris is wiping down table-tops in preparation for the early evening rush when one of the last people she expected to see in her bar walks in. She’d have been more surprised if the Fuhrer himself walked in, but not by much, because she sees a lot of military men in her establishment. But Edward Elric, the FullMetal Alchemist, doesn’t look like he feels out of place at all.

“Edward.” The woman who follows him in growls. “This is a _brothel_.”

The boy isn’t chastised at all, he just rolls his eyes. They both look like they’ve been in a brawl, and though the kid definitely looks worse for wear, they both have the sort of aura that screams ‘you should see the other guy’. “It’s a bar, too, Teacher. You said you wanted a drink, didn’t you?” Ah, so the woman must be Izumi Curtis, the infamous alchemy teacher of the genius Elric boys. Chris watches her with a little more interest, assessing her. She’s a handsome woman, strong and clearly living an active life, although there’s a touch of pallor to her skin that makes her wonder if she’s ill or not eating right. “Hey, Madame Christmas! You open for business?” Elric calls.

“Well, if it isn’t the little architect.” Chris drawls, which gets her a sharp-edged grin from the boy. “You’re still too young to be a customer.” She reminds him, even as she heads back behind the bar.

“If I’m old enough to kill for the state, I think I’m old enough for half a glass of alcohol, thanks.” Elric retorts promptly, holding up his State Alchemist’s watch. Which is a damn good point, really, and Chris knows her boy will get her out of trouble if anyone _does_ complain.

So she nods acceptingly, and gestures at the well-stocked wall of alcohol behind the bar. “Pick your poison, kid.” And then she glances at Curtis to include her in the question about drinks as well without ruining the banter.

“Don’t suppose you’ve got any Drachman bottled water?” Curtis asks a little wistfully.

Chris honestly loves it when she can surprise people, and it’s always sweeter when it’s the sort of surprise that makes them light up the way Curtis does when she ducks down to pull the – smuggled – bottle of clear, potent liquor out from it’s hiding place.

“Huh.” The kid says, eyeing his teacher sideways for a moment while Chris pours Curtis a generous glass and sets it in front of her. “Can you make a hot mint chocolate toddy? Without the cream?” He asks hopefully.

“Child’s play.” Chris confirms, and sets about to mixing it for him.

“So why here?” Curtis asks while she’s busy. So many people seem to think that ‘busy’ means ‘deaf’, it’s another of those things Chris really, really loves about her job.

“Why d’you think?” Elric retorts. Curtis grunts an acknowledgement and falls silent. A covert glance shows Chris that she’s glaring into the vodka like it holds the secrets of the universe. “Teacher…” Elric begins, and for the first time in Chris’s hearing, he sounds tentative, nervous. Curtis looks up at him, dryly prompting, and Elric grimaces and shifts on his seat. “How much do you remember?”

“Two dozen, more or less.” Curtis replies, and knocks back half her drink.

“ _Shit_.” Elric swears, wide-eyed.

“How much do _you_ remember?” Curtis retorts.

“Just ten.” Elric replies. “I guess that’s a point in favour of Al’s theory of an expanding source, then.”

Curtis makes a dubious noise, and Elric’s eyebrows hike up. Chris is _painfully_ curious about what the hell they’re talking about, but it sounds as if they’re talking in code, so she’s unlikely to figure out what they actually _mean_ unless they get a lot more careless. To help them along to that end, she serves up Elric’s toddy. He grins his thanks, and takes a sip. His eyes flutter closed, and an expression of pure _nostalgia_ flickers across his face.

“Maybe, maybe not.” Curtis says once Elric’s done savouring his drink. She’s watching him with a very maternal combination of sorrow and pride, but the moment he looks at her, it’s gone, hidden behind practical irritability. “I have a theory about that, but since for a long time _I was the only one stupid enough to have done something like that_ -” Elric cringes down in his seat, thoroughly chastised. “-I haven’t had anyone to test it against.”

Elric clears his throat sheepishly, but he sounds perfectly composed when he says “Lay it on me, then.”

“I think it only goes back to the latest one that’s familiar enough for you to latch onto. Think of the first time. Does it parallel your entire life in weirdly specific ways?” Curtis asks cryptically.

Or, well, it’s clearly only cryptic to Chris, because Elric’s expression turns open and slack with dawning revelation. “Shit- I mean, I’d noticed the sort of- the superficial- but-” He stops, and his left hand goes up to grab his right shoulder. His eyes are glazed over like he’s watching a memory play out so clearly he can’t see the bar at all. “He literally even saved me the _same fucking way_.”

Curtis snorts. “Yeah. Tell me about it.”

Elric startles, drawn back to the present, and shoots his teacher a teasing grin. “Did you drop your bear again?” He asks through a snicker.

“Yup.” Curtis confirms, smiling like a woman in love.

Elric laughs again, this time less teasing and more fond, and shakes his head. “I guessed it would be Sig.” He muses, which sounds like a non-sequitur, but Chris isn’t that surprised to hear the woman’s husband mentioned after the look that had been on her face a moment ago. Clearly, Curtis isn’t surprised, either, because she snorts.

“Obviously.” She drawls, and finishes off her drink. Chris refills it without needing to be asked. Then she looks over at Elric, expression turning serious. “Who is it, for you?”

“Mustang.” Elric answers, like it’s simple, like it’s easy, like there’s no other answer in the world he could possibly give. Chris keeps her expression blank out of sheer force of will, and wonders if Roy’s figured out that Elric is hopelessly in love with him yet. Curtis frowns, like she recognises the name, but she’s not sure why. Elric elaborates; “The Flame Alchemist.”

Curtis’s nose wrinkles in acute disgust, Elric glowers back, and slowly, the teacher’s expression twists into something grudgingly accepting. Then she makes a disgusted noise. “I suppose he can’t be a complete shit-stain, then. But the _military_ , Ed-!” She huffs.

“Hey! It’s not like I joined cause I _like_ them.” Elric shoots back. “And besides, you’ll like him.” He asserts confidently.

“I will, will I?”

“I’ve fucked over the Amestrian military for him twice now. Three times, if you count this latest round.” Elric tells her, like that’s the sort of thing you can just _say_ in public. Idiot. But, still, nice to know he’s on Roy’s side in this. Curtis looks mildly impressed, too, and a bit amused. “Fucking _irony_. Or- maybe not, maybe it’s just synchronicity.”

“Yeah, it’s good at that.”

“You want to know the _real_ shit piece of irony?” Elric asks, mood dropping into a wry sort of _agony_ . Curtis turns to face him, frowning in concern, and Elric glances at her before looking back at his drink. “The real shit _pieces_ of irony, actually.”

“Tell me.” Curtis orders.

“Amestrian Military burned down Valentino’s bar. With Val still inside.”

That’s… Irony is an interesting word for it. Chris might have picked _tragedy_ , but irony works, she supposes. She feels a twist of sympathy for Elric, and if it had been her student-nephew-son telling her something like that, she might have patted his shoulder and reminded him to keep moving forward, but Curtis doesn’t do either of those. Instead, she laughs. It’s a slightly sick sounding laugh, dark and bitter, but it’s a laugh. Elric clearly doesn’t mind, though, because he snorts once, and buries his nose into his spiked hot chocolate.

“And the other?” Curtis prompts once she’s done.

“Malka was a _mullah_.”

Elric knows – knew – an Ishvalan. An Ishvalan _holy sage_ , if Chris remembers her Ishvalan right. Well, isn’t that a kick in the teeth. Still, it hasn’t stopped him falling for Roy, so Chris dares to hope this isn’t the disaster it could’ve been. “Shit.” Curtis breathes, wincing.

“Yeah.” Elric mutters, expression twisting.

“I hope you were gentle when you told him about that one.”

Elric chokes on the sip of toddy he was taking, splutters, and turns to stare at his teacher in acute, disbelieving horror. “I haven’t _told him_! What the _fuck_?! Why would you think I’ve told him _any_ of this?!” He yelps, and for just about the first time in this whole conversation, actually sounds his age.

Curtis looks shocked by that reaction. “Why would I- Edward, why the fuck _haven’t_ you told him?!”

The look Elric gives her says loud and clear that he’s wondering when she bumped her head badly enough to cause brain damage. “Oh, yeah, sure, because that’s _exactly_ what anyone wants to hear from their _fourteen year old subordinate_.” And they were back to talking about Elric being in love with Roy again. An interesting segue from knowing an Ishvalan, but Curtis doesn’t seem thrown, and Chris supposes she can understand why Elric might have connected the two so thoroughly in his mind. Hard to explain why the one hadn’t made him hate Roy without admitting to the other.

“You’re more than that.” Curtis points out.

“Yeah, but _he doesn’t know that_.” Elric retorts furiously.

“Yes, he does.” Curtis counters, factual and completely certain. It takes Chris aback, never mind how it manages to startle Elric out of his temper. He blinks at her, brow knotting in uncertainty. But he clearly trusts his teacher a great deal, because he doesn’t argue, even though he’d have every right to demand how the fuck she could possibly know that. “He might not know that he knows, but he _does_ know, Edward.” At Elric’s continued bewilderment, she rolls her eyes. “Oh, come on. Haven’t you ever had a conversation with him where he says exactly the right thing at exactly the right moment, and you’re left thinking ‘It’s like you were _there_ ’?”

Elric’s staring at her wide-eyed again. Slowly, he nods. “We were talking about Fiametta Vittori.”

“The Aerugonian painter?” Curtis echoes, surprised and impressed. “The one famous for painting all the-” She stops, expression falling into slightly pained lines. She doesn’t need to finish, Chris knows exactly what sort of paintings Vittori was famous for. She’s got a few reproductions on the walls upstairs, after all. “Edward…!” Curtis groans.

Elric grins mischievously. “She was a _perv_. She and Roy would have gotten on like a house on fire.” They both paused at that, eyeing each other, Elric with expectant glee, and Curtis with slowly-dawning outrage at the pun. Then they collapse into slightly tipsy snickering. That’s the last piece of dubious sense Chris hears from them for the rest of the evening. The bar gets busy, but she keeps half an ear on them, but all they seem to be talking about is increasingly bizarre historical ramblings. If it’s a code, it’s a damn good one. Chris can’t make any sense of it at all.


	3. Chapter 3

_“You know your boy is hopelessly in love with you, don’t you?”_

_“My- Are you talking about FullMetal?”_

_“Mmhm.”_

_“He’s_ fourteen _.”_

_“Mm, I don’t think he is. Not really.”_

_“He really is.”_

_“Don’t be so literal Roy, it doesn’t suit you.”_

_“I know what you mean, Madame, but it’s still- I can’t just ignore-”_

_“Ahh…! Is my baby boy falling in love, too?”_

_“What? No! That’s not-! He’s a_ child _! I would_ never _-!”_

_“Pfft. Of course you wouldn’t. I raised you better than that.”_

_“You did.”_

_“But he’s not going to be a child forever, Roy. He’s not even going to be a child for much longer.”_

_“…I know.”_

_“I’d let him work here in a couple of years. Maybe even one, given how world-weary he seems.”_

_“World-weary. That’s a good phrase for it. Speaking of, how’s Nina doing?”_

_“Oh, she’s as precocious as you were, Roy-Boy. She’s recovering well.”_

_“Good, I’m glad.”_

_“I’ll have someone drop some pictures off with Maes for you.”_

_“Oh, good god, alright. I’m sure FullMetal will appreciate some as well.”_

_“_ Speaking of _, I hear his fifteenth birthday isn’t too far off.”_

 _“_ Mother…! _”_

_“Don’t take that tone with me, Roy, I’m helping you out here.”_

_“How, exactly?”_

_“Have you thought about what to get him for his birthday?”_

_“If you’re about to suggest something salacious, let me cut you off now and say;_ don’t _.”_

 _“Heheh. Only a_ little _salacious. He’s fifteen, I think he can handle a Vittori.”_

_“A- One of the Vittori reproductions? Really? Why on earth-?”_

_“Call it a hunch.”_

* * *

The Hughes residence is packed to bursting. Ed feels distinctly uncomfortable, being at the center of all this attention and effort, but it’s also kind of nice. He isn’t super keen on the idea of celebrating his birthday. He has eight of them rattling around inside his skull, plus two namedays, and a soulday. This one in particular gets lost in amongst the others too easily for him to care very much. Still, Teacher’s visiting, and so is Winry, and a woman who introduced herself as Roy’s foster-sister has brought Nina round, and Roy’s whole team have come, and Gracia has made a freaking _fantastic_ triple chocolate cake.

Al is sitting on the floor a few feet away from the couch where Ed is sitting, passing Elysia crayons for her colouring, and Nina had two slices of cake and is now chattering Winry’s ear off, and Hughes is taking pictures of everyone and everything like a maniac, and Roy’s sister is flirting with Havoc, which seems to be mortifying both Havoc _and Roy_ , which is hilarious. And Teacher is chatting with Gracia and Riza over mugs of tea from her place in Sig’s lap.

It’s good, Ed decides. It’s just good to be surrounded by friends and family and to take one day off from the pressure of righting his wrongs and fixing his mistakes. He’ll get back to the quest to restore Al’s body tomorrow, but today, he has permission to relax a little. It’s good.

“Is it time for presents yet?” Nina asks abruptly, abandoning Winry to throw herself half over the back of the couch, feet in the air and tail wagging, which puts her head somewhere in the vicinity of Ed’s shoulder. “Big brother! You need to open all your presents!”

“Good idea, Nina!” Hughes enthuses, and then suddenly everyone is bustling about retrieving their gifts for him and depositing them on the table. A lot of them, Ed is delighted to see, are book-shaped. Then Hughes holds Elysia up so that she can very solemnly hand Ed the card she’d made for him. It’s covered in glue and glitter, and of course the glitter goes everywhere, and Winry winces when it gets on Ed’s automail, but even she can’t deny that it’s utterly adorable.

“Mine next!” Nina insists, so Ed opens up the clumsily wrapped package she thrusts at him. It turns out to be a hand-knitted scarf, which Ed suspects is the result of Roy’s Mum’s attempts to keep Nina occupied and out of trouble. It’s a little wonky and uneven, but it’s a bright, eye-searing red, and it was made with love, so Ed wraps it around his neck at once and preens. Winry gets him a set of automail maintenance tools, like she _always_ does in a passive-aggressive attempt to remind him to take care of his automail, and Granny sent on a book titled Beginner’s Guide to Combustion Engines, because she thinks she’s _hilarious_ , and only Teacher and Al really get why it pisses him off so much.

Teacher got him a proper Xerxesian kattari, which she _must_ have made herself, and Ed freaks out for a moment, because what idiot decides to take up blacksmithing – even alchemically enhanced blacksmithing – when they’re _sick_? Sig shares a commiserating look with him when he hands over all the extra bits and pieces Ed needs to maintain the blade. And in keeping with the theme – had they collaborated? – Al got him a book about the few Xerxesian alchemists that history remembers with a handwritten note inside that says ‘you can tell me all the things they got wrong – love, Al’.

Hughes got him a photo album half filled with pictures of Ed and Al and the people they know, with space left over for more, and Gracia added a pile of blank journals to the gift, which Ed definitely appreciates. The rest of Roy’s team all got him various books; a massive scientific treatise from Falman, a recent alchemist’s autobiography from Fuery, a _fascinating_ obscure book about spiritual symbology in alchemy from Hawkeye, a book about the art of making fireworks from Breda. Havoc, on the other hand, had got him a _swear-jar_. Which sends Ed into hysterics.

Then Roy’s sister – Vanessa – hands over a small, prettily-wrapped package, and Ed splutters a little about how she didn’t have to, he doesn’t even know her, what the hell. She just laughs at him. “I insist. Auntie Chris _insisted_. At least as a thank you for making Roy’s work stories _so_ much more interesting.”

“Oh, well, um, okay then, I guess?” Ed says, and sets to opening the packet. It turns out to be a couple of pretty hair-clips. Nothing so ornate as to be mockingly ‘girly’, but whoever made them paid just as much attention to form as function. If he wears them day-to-day, he’s going to end up worrying about damaging them. Not that he ever does anything creative with his hair anyway, so it’s a bit moot.

Roy looks _mortified_ , though, so that’s definitely a plus. And, in the spirit of winding him up as much as possible, Ed decides ‘fuck it’ and tugs the band off the end of his braid, shaking his hair out and tugging the top half back into the clip he likes the best. It’s a style he’d worn a lot when he was Proteus, one that Huang had always gotten distracted by when they were researching together. “Thanks!” He says brightly to Vanessa, who looks so gleeful Ed figures she’s caught on to his plot to torment Roy and _approves_.

“Alright, I suppose it’s my turn, is it?” Roy asks, resigned.

He slides a large square present out from where it had been leaning against the side-cabinet thing that Gracia keeps knick-knacks and Elysia’s toys in, and hands to to Ed over the table before stepping back. There’s an odd touch of apprehension about him, nothing obvious, just a stiffness in his pleasant expression that suggests it’s taking effort to keep it in place.

Ed lays the present on his lap and studies the shape of it. “It’s a picture-frame.” He decides after a moment of feeling the edges.

“The purpose of presents is to _unwrap them_ , FullMetal.” Roy drawls.

“The purpose of _giving_ presents is to shut up and be nice, Colonel Bastard.” Ed retorts, but he _does_ tear into the wrapping paper, and peel the picture out of it. And then he freezes, heart racing and head _spinning_ , because that- that’s _him_. Or well, technically, it’s _her_ , when he was a her. He presses a hand to his mouth to stop himself blurting out something stupid, and just… stares.

It’s not the original, he can tell right away, but it’s an excellent reproduction. Ed-when-he-was-Lucia is sitting naked in an unmade – and very rumpled – bed dressed in off-white linens underneath a wide window letting in a spill of brilliant morning light that picks out the amber tones of Lucia’s tanned skin and the golden tones of her light brown hair, which is twisted up into a messy, careless bun pinned in place by a paintbrush, many loose strands curling about her neck and shoulders. There’s ink and graphite stains on her fingers and thighs, and love-bites dappled across her neck, chest, and wrists. She’s sitting sort of cross-legged, one knee tucked uselessly under the light sheet and the other propped up so that she can lean a notebook on it and scribble down her ideas.

Several people are asking what it is, and Havoc and Hughes and Hawkeye all shuffle around the back of the couch to peer at it over Ed’s shoulders. Havoc lets out an impressed wolf-whistle, while Hawkeye says, in a carefully neutral tone of _Stern Disapproval;_ “That’s a bit inappropriate, isn’t it, _sir_?”

Which, _no_. No, Ed’s not going to let that stand, because it’s _not_ . The moment hadn’t even been sexual, except that they _had_ just had lazy morning sex. But then Ed- _Lucia_ had had an _idea_ , and she’d flung herself out of Fiametta’s arms to find something to write it down with. Only then had she realised that she’d just abandoned her new lover without regard in favour of _science_ , and she’d looked up expecting annoyance and exasperation, only to find Fiametta grinning and looking at her like she was the most perfect thing in the whole world. So Lucia had gone back to bed and settled in to write down her notes, and she’d gotten so absorbed she hadn’t even _noticed_ Fiametta going for her sketchbook, and then her paints, until several hours later.

At which point she’d taken one look at the first attempt, and punched her in the arm for ‘making me look ridiculous, you complete sap’. The consequent versions had only gotten _more_ ridiculous, because Fiametta had decided it was her purpose in life to wind Lucia up like that at every available opportunity.

It’s not inappropriate _at all_ , except for the fact that Roy has _no idea_ what he’s saying with this picture because he _doesn’t know_ . Ed looks up at Teacher, the only one who _gets it_ , and she raises an eyebrow at him, smug. _‘He doesn’t know he knows, but he does know.’_ Ed thinks, and it’s… Good is something of an understatement.

Roy is fumbling for an explanation under Hawkeye’s stern stare, trying to play it off as a combination of a tasteless joke and an attempt at winding Ed up, but Ed isn’t listening. He carefully leans the paining against the back of the couch and gets up. Roy’s faux-blasé defence trails off as Ed rounds the table, walks right into him, and hugs him tight. He’s in civilian dress, so it’s actually comfortable to hug him, and as Roy’s body-heat soaks through to him, Ed silently mourns the fact that he can’t just stay like this forever. “Thanks. I love it.” He says quietly.

“…You’re welcome.” Roy replies, just as quietly, carefully setting his hands on Ed’s back, not quite returning the hug, but something close to it.

“Huh.” Hughes says, in his scheming-voice. “I didn’t know you were a fan of Vittori, Edward.” He remarks lightly.

Teacher snorts.

“You shut up.” Ed grumbles at her, pointing in her direction without looking. He forces himself to let go of Roy before the hug becomes awkward, and turns to Hughes to try and explain his overly-emotional reaction to an indecent portrait of a long dead Aerugonian alchemist. “She did a good series on alchemy.” He states, crossing his arms defensively and feeling his face heat up.

“Hey, it’s okay, Boss. You’re at that age where-” Havoc begins, his tone gleefully mocking because he’s obviously a sadistic fuck.

“ _No_. Nope.” Ed sticks his fingers in his ears. “LALALALALA!”

* * *

Ed is minding his own business, grabbing a quick lunch at a bakery a few streets away from the library, when out of fucking nowhere, Hughes slides into the seat opposite him with a cheerful “Hi, Ed!” and the sort of smile that makes Ed realise why most people find _his_ grins a little unnerving.

“Uh, hi, Hughes.” He greets warily.

“Oh, please, Maes is fine.” Hughes – Maes – insists. “This is a _social_ call.”

Ed gives him a dubious look. “Well it _looks_ kind of like _stalking_.” He counters, and then takes a huge bite of his pasty. Maybe if he finishes quickly he can escape back into the library.

“That’s hurtful, Ed.” Maes protests, sounding entirely insincere. Ed makes an indistinct ‘mrmph’ noise around his mouthful. “I just wanted to know what your intentions are towards my best friend.” He announces, and although he’s definitely joking, tone jovial and eyes bright, there’s a thread of something a little more serious underneath.

Ed swallows hard, coughs a little, and then starts laughing. Because trust Maes Hughes to see that there’s more to Ed than a fifteen year old with a crush. “Well, I guess my intentions right now are to wait until he won’t have a panic attack if I jump him, and then jump him. Repeatedly. Preferably for the rest of our lives.” He answers, just as light-hearted as Maes, with just as much truth underneath.

Maes’s smile becomes a lot less sharp, softens into something that doesn’t make Ed want to flee to the safety of the library anymore. “How long a wait is that going to be?” He wonders, without any hint as to what he thinks the right answer is.

“Well, I had it from a reliable source when I was twelve that I’d be eligible for moderately respectable sex work in five years, so that’s only two more to go.” Ed replies lightly. Maes blinks at him for a moment, which isn’t the reaction Ed was expecting, but then he _laughs_. Cackles, really. “What’s funny?” He asks dubiously.

“Madame Christmas told you that, did she?” Maes asks pointedly.

Ed stares at him. “You…” He stops, and wonders if the synchronicity of his lives could get any _more_ ridiculous. “Wait, let me guess. She’s got something to do with Roy, doesn’t she? Oh, that _fucker_.” He exclaims, eyes widening. “ _That’s_ how he knew to get me that painting! She fucking _told him_ , didn’t she? Oh my _fucking_ -!”

“Mm, yes. I think it was one of hers, originally. She likes to hang what she calls ‘dignified pornography’ on the walls of her upstairs business.” Maes confirms.

Ed whines and puts his head down on the table. “Next you’ll be telling me Roy grew up there or some shit.” He complains.

“As a matter of fact, he _did_.” Maes confirms, sounding intrigued, and Ed just groans, because, okay, he walked right into that one. “When she’s not working, she goes by Chris Mustang.” Maes adds, and at that, Ed sits up again.

“She’s Roy’s _mum_?”

“Biologically? His aunt. But she raised him ever since his parents died when he was very young. So, yes, that’s who he means when he talks about his mother.” Maes explains. “But going back to that painting, Ed.” He goes on abruptly.

Ed huffs, going a little pink. “What about it?”

“I had a _long_ chat with the Madame after your birthday. You said some very interesting things in between being very, very cryptic, and bringing up conversations you never actually _had_ with Roy about old Aerugonian painters.” Maes states, resting his forearms on the table as he leans in and watches Ed with a pointedly patient expression.

Ed narrows his eyes. “We did _too_ talk about renaissance painters.”

“Yes, but not _Vittori_.” Maes stresses. “And nice dodge, by the way.”

“Well, _I_ was talking about Vittori, and he got the story right, so it’s not _my_ fault if he didn’t realise, and only got it right because he’s _that much_ like a perverted lesbian hedonist from the fifteenth century.” Ed retorts. “And I didn’t dodge shit. I just addressed the only point you _actually made_.”

Maes snorts, and leans back in his chair with a sigh. “You’re going to be very good for Roy, you know, when he manages to pull his head out of his ass. He needs someone like you in his life to keep him honest, keep him from twisting himself up into contortions with all the games he likes to play.”

Ed eyes him for a long moment, because, hell, but that was a good summary of at least one of his lives in its entirety. The Xingese royal court was a _pit of vipers_. “Yeah.” He agrees shortly, but apparently even that is enough to put that worrying gleam of curiosity into Maes’s eyes again. This time it’s _totally_ a dodge, and Ed doesn’t even care, when he says; “So, what were those _interesting things_ you wanted to interrogate me about?”

“Oh, you know…” Maes says, with entirely and obviously feigned nonchalance. “Treason.”

Ed snorts. “Yeah? Is this you delivering Roy’s official pitch?”

“No, Ed. This is me asking _how the hell_ you even knew there _was_ a pitch.” Maes sighs, no longer light-hearted at all. He’s watching Ed carefully, _worried_ , and it makes Ed feel bad. He hadn’t _meant_ to make Maes paranoid about discovery. But of course, if a teenage wildcard like him could figure it out, anyone who didn’t know that the knowledge came from _lifetimes_ of experience with Roy and his masks and his stupid doublespeak bullshit and his penchant for self-sacrificial righteousness would be forgiven for assuming that one of the Generals, or the Fuhrer himself, might be able to see it, too.

Ed could lie, or dodge again, or something, but he doesn’t want to make Maes’s life harder than it has to be. He’s a good friend to Roy, and he’s been a good friend to Ed, too, so far. “I bet you looked into Valentino’s Bar, huh?” He asks.

Maes narrows his eyes, but plays along. “What do you take me for, Ed? Of course I did. Headquarters for one of the most successful Aerugonian resistance forces this side of the border in a hundred years before they blew the place up. I looked into this Malka person you mentioned too. And believe me, I’m _dying_ to know what a border scuffle and a _mullah_ from eighty years ago have to do with Roy, but I’d like to know about the treason thing first.”

“Valentino’s Bar.” Ed holds up his hand, and then ticks each point off on his fingers as he goes. “The Wolfsbane killings. Knyazhna Tatiana Nikiforova. The assassination of General Maultier. The Riviere Traders. The first Xingese Empress.” Ed pauses. “I think that’s… No, wait, you can probably count the Second Drachman Revolution, too, really, although you may have to dig pretty deep to figure that one out.”

“I recognise a few of those.” Maes acknowledges.

Ed nods emphatically, as though it must be obvious even though he knows Maes probably won’t understand. “That’s how I knew. I don’t think anyone else has made the connections, though, so you don’t need to panic.”

Maes stares at him for a long, long moment. “Challenge accepted.” He says finally.

Laughing, Ed shakes his head at him. “If anyone can figure it out, I’d put my money on you, Maes.” He offers, and Maes beams at him.

“Your faith in me is heartwarming, Ed. Almost as heartwarming as my _beautiful_ daughter!” Maes enthuses, and Ed resigns himself to watching the man parade out a stream of photographs of Elysia. At least, since he’s not required to say more than ‘aww’ and ‘wow’ every now and then, he actually has a chance finish his pasty.

This goes on until Ed’s _almost_ finished eating, and then Maes, with well practised insincerity, checks his watch and says; “Oops! Looks like my lunch break is over!” And sweeps all of his photos back into his pocket and stands up while Ed is still chewing on his last bite. “See you later, Ed.”

“Mrmph.” Ed says again, nodding.

Maes chuckles. “And, one last thing, Ed?” He says, pausing on his way past Ed’s chair. Ed looks up at him with his eyebrows raised, and Maes hands him a little folded up piece of paper. “Don’t wait too long. Roy will keep you at arms length forever if you let him, because he’s got a martyr complex the size of the Eastern Desert. We’re working on him, but he could do with a reminder from _you_ that you’re older than you look.”

Then he’s gone, and Ed’s left staring at empty space in confusion. If he’s translating Maes-speak right, that was a ‘well, _I_ think you should jump him _now_ ’. He looks down at the paper in his hand and unfolds it, only to find nothing but an address written there, and he’d bet his _other_ arm and leg that it’s Roy’s. Maes is an interfering _matchmaker_ , and Ed doesn’t know whether to be pissed off or grateful.

* * *

Ed decides Maes’ gift is too good to let it go to waste, so the next time he’s back in East, he breaks into Roy’s house while the man’s still at work and makes himself at home. When Ed had told Al his plan, Al had given him one of those inexplicably readable _looks_ of his where he’s judging every single one of Ed’s life choices in every single one of his lives, and then he sighed and wished him luck, which is why Al is best little brother in the whole wide world.

When Roy gets back, Ed is happily ensconced in Roy’s living room with half the books from Roy’s personal library spread out around him, a fire blazing in the grate, a ridiculously snug blanket over his shoulders, and a mug of some weird fancy tea at his elbow. Roy, of course, comes in warily, prepared for an intruder, fingers poised to snap, and stops dead in the doorway, _staring_. “FullMetal?”

“Hey, Bastard.” Ed will call Roy ‘Roy’ to his face when Roy calls him ‘Edward’ again. “Shut the damn door, you’re letting all the heat out.”

Roy is so off-balance that he actually does as he’s told. Ed will have to remember that trick. Then he returns and goes right back to staring. “How did you get in?”

“Transmuted the lock, obviously.” Ed informs him. “I can show you how to alchemically booby-trap your locks later, if you like.”

Roy sighs in long-suffering exasperation. “How did you even know where I live?”

“How did you even know I’m a fan of Vittori?” Ed retorts.

“Touché.” Roy admits, and then just stands there, staring in bewilderment.

Ed glances up from his book at last, and gives the man a judging look. “Well don’t just stand there like an idiot, idiot. Go order some take-out and then come explain to me why the hell you have bullshit like Dee’s Hierarchy of Elements on your shelf.”

“FullMetal…”

“ _Food_ , Bastard.” Ed insists.

Sighing again like the melodramatic bastard he is, Roy goes to call for take-out. While he’s doing that, Ed clears a space for him on the couch, shifting books he’d left lying open beside him when he got caught up in something else. Roy comes back, eyes the newly open space, and then gingerly seats himself. “FullMetal.” He says again.

“I’d say ‘that’s my name, Bastard, don’t wear it out’ except, you know, it’s not.” Ed says pointedly.

Another sigh. “What are you doing?”

“Investigating your personal book collection.” Ed replies immediately. “It’s not half bad, honestly. Although, seriously, what’s with Dee’s shit? His theories were debunked decades ago.”

“ _Most_ of his theories were debunked.” Roy counters, and the next half hour is full of good-natured bickering and alchemical debate. Then the food arrives, and the next hour passes by the same way, except now with really good food, too. The conversation takes a slightly darker turn as they dive into discussing human transmutation, biological alchemy, soul alchemy, and the difference between them, but even then, Ed feels more hopeful about his quest than he has in a while now, revved up with new determination because Roy might not have as much knowledge as Ed on the subject, but he’s painfully insightful, and so good at coming up with the things Ed’s missed.

Shit, but Ed loves him.

And it must be written all over his face because Roy falters in what he’s saying, in whatever argument he was making, and his expression turns conflicted and uncertain. Ed hates it. “Don’t.” Ed says, before Roy can say anything. Roy closes his mouth, but doesn’t look any less pained.

“Edward…” He says, half chiding, half pleading.

“Roy.” Ed returns, wry. Roy sucks in a sharp breath. “It’s okay, you know.”

“You’re _half my age_.” Roy retorts, sounding agonised.

He’s not exactly wrong, even if he’s not exactly right, either. Ed sighs, and looks down at the blanket that’s now draped over both of them. He picks at the edge of it with his automail hand. “Yeah. Why d’you think I haven’t actually made a move on you yet?”

Roy huffs a weird little half-laugh at that. “This _isn’t_ you making a move?” He asks dryly.

Ed snorts. “Believe me, bastard, when I make a move on you, you’ll fucking know about it.”

“Literally, I suppose.” Roy muses wickedly, and then winces. “Sorry, that was-”

“If you say inappropriate, I’m gonna hit you.” Ed warns him, holding up his flesh hand in a fist in warning. Roy very pointedly presses his lips together and doesn’t say a word. “Cause it isn’t inappropriate, it’s fucking true. But I’m not stupid, you know. I do get that you’d feel kind of skeevy if we did anything yet, so- so I’m waiting. That doesn’t mean I’m going to pretend that there’s even the slightest fucking chance I’d pick anyone else in the world but you.”

Roy’s eyes go wide, and then he closes them. He leans in, and for a moment Ed thinks he’s going to kiss him, but instead he just leans their foreheads together. “You can’t know that for sure.” He whispers, sounding like it hurts to say it.

“I can.” Ed insists. “I do.”

“I know you’ve seen more of the world than most people your age, and I know that- that there’s more to you than just a fifteen year old hellion, but you shouldn’t tie yourself to me before you’ve had a chance to- to explore, and-”

“Idiot.” Ed huffs.

“I’m serious, Edward-”

“I know you are, Roy, that’s why you’re an idiot.” Roy pulls back to frown at him, and Ed wonders if Teacher is right, if he should tell him the whole truth. They’ve already been talking about souls half the evening, after all. But Ed… Ed isn’t quite ready to put himself that far out there when Roy is still battling his fucking conscience. It would feel… manipulative, or some shit. “Can I tell you a story?” He asks, instead.

“Can I stop you?” Roy answers wearily, but he’s smiling fondly, so Ed figures that’s not a no.

“Nope.” Ed squirms around until he’s comfortably leaning on Roy, and Roy hesitates only a moment before curling his arm around Ed’s shoulders. “Once upon a time, in a far away land, there was a boy.” Ed begins, measuring out the words.

“A fairytale?” Roy wonders, sounding startled.

“Yeah, sort of.” Ed hedges, because no, it’s not, it’s his _life_ – _their_ lives – but he’s not going to tell Roy that just yet. “Anyway, so this boy, he had real shit luck. Like, the shittiest. His parents died in a landslide when he was four, and not even a year later, he got nabbed by fucking slavers and carted off into the desert to be sold to some rich asshole who thought he was hot shit and that it somehow made him look _good_ to have a tiny ‘exotic’ little boy serving drinks at his stupid parties, and not like a complete shit-stain.”

“That does sound unfortunate.” Roy comments, sounding confused.

“Yeah, but this kid, right, this kid was resilient, and _clever_. He made this plan. Cause, see, in Xerxes-”

“Oh, is that where this is set?”

“Yeah, shut up. In Xerxes, academia was everything. If you were smart, if you could make a _valuable contribution_ to the Great Library, you could earn your way up to the top, even if you started out a slave. Even if you weren’t Xerxesian by birth. So that’s what he decided to do.” Ed pauses, thinking back and trying to sort an entire lifetime into something he could tell Roy and have it make sense. “One day, when he was out running errands or some shit, this slave just happened to be in the right place at the right time to see this building – one of the big manors for the Savants – collapse.”

“Savants?” Roy questions.

“It’s the best translation of the title. Like I said, the heirarchy in Xerxes was about academia, not the military, or inheritance, or anything like that. They were people who- who fucking _revolutionised_ knowledge in whatever field of study. Being recognised as a Savant was, I don’t fucking know, like being a General, I guess, here. You’re powerful, and people kinda _have_ to listen to you, and you get lots of perks and rewards and shit. There were also teachers and shit, Professors or whatever, which was basically one step sideways, not quite _parallel_ , but… the State Alchemists, sort of?”

“I see.” Roy says, sounding a little bewildered. “So… so this manor collapsed?” He prompts.

“Yeah, and this boy- Well, he was a teenager, by today’s standards-”

“Today’s standards?”

“In Xerxes you were considered a child until you were twenty-five, roughly” Ed explains impatiently. “When you completed the standard education and could choose a speciality. _Anyway_ -” Ed presses when it looks like Roy’s about to ask more questions. “So, this boy recognised an alchemical reaction when he saw one, and managed to pinpoint the source in amongst the rubble.”

“Who did he find?” Roy asks, which at least isn’t a _distracting_ question.

“This kid. Nine years old, half crushed by rubble. His entire right arm was so much mush. He’d been being an idiot, trying to get his super-clever Savant grandmother to pay attention to him, and his circle had backfired on him and brought the whole house down. And this slave kid pushed this massive piece of masonry out of the way with one shoulder and grabbed the other kid with the other hand and just hauled him out of the mess he’d turned his entire life into. Carried him to the healers. Went right back and dug out the kid’s cousin. His grandmother was already dead, but if it hadn’t been for that slave, his cousin would have died before anyone got around to getting him out.”

“Edward…” Roy says slowly.

“I’m not finished, bastard, let me finish.” Ed retorts. Roy nods silently, so Ed forges on. “So this kid, this dumbass kid who destroyed his entire life all by himself because he couldn’t appreciate what he _had_ when his dad was gone and his mum was dead, knew that he had to pay back this slave for saving him and his cousin. So he went and found him and taught him everything he knew, everything he got to learn just because he was born to an educated family. They studied together for years, ended up fucking _revolutionising_ alchemy. Heh. The slave was elevated to Savant because he figured out that water is actually combustible if you pull it apart.”

“Is it _really_?” Roy asks, smirking. “I had _no_ idea.”

Ed cackles. “Sure you didn’t.”

“I assume the other boy became a Savant, too?” Roy questions, giving Ed a soft look under faintly furrowed brows. Like he’s figured out Ed’s talking about _them_ but still isn’t sure what the point is. Jokes on him, because that _is_ the point.

“Yeah. He figured out some really cool architectural tricks. There’s _so much_ cool shit you can do with rocks and sand if you really pay attention to the molecular structure. Like fixing fault-lines in otherwise apparently solid stone.” Ed explains with a grimace. Roy tugs him a little closer.

“I take it the boy’s cousin _did_ recover, too?” Roy asks gently.

“Yeah.” Ed confirms. He knows Roy thinks he’s talking about Al, even though he’s not. Lyco hadn’t been much like Al, really. He’d been a daydreamer, kind but absent-minded, and he didn’t understand people at all, not the way Al did. Ed had loved him just as much, though. “Xerxes was pretty good with healing alchemy, so he got better eventually. And _eventually_ , these two dumbasses got around to admitting that somewhere between the heroics and the research and the awards, they’d fallen in love. It didn’t really change that much, though, they still bickered over theories and played with alchemy together and spent most of their time side by side in the library. It was just that when they went home, they went to the same place, and sometimes they had sex, which was pretty fun.”

Roy makes a sound that’s trying to be a laugh, but is a little too strangled to manage. “I think I see your point, Edward-”

“Still not finished, bastard.” Ed interrupts. “So they got married, and eventually they got asked to tutor the royal children. Which, in case you can’t figure it out, was one of the very highest honours a person could be awarded in Xerxes. They probably couldn’t really have said no without being, like, shunned or something, but it didn’t really matter because… because they really enjoyed it. Not just teaching, which was frustrating as all hell but entirely worth it, but teaching _those_ kids. They were _hellraisers_ , don’t get me wrong, but they were so _good_ , too. Getting to help them discover themselves? Discover the amazing things they could accomplish? Those two stupid boys loved that a whole hell of a lot. Queen Aesara was one of Xerxes most beloved rulers, and they were so proud of her.” Ed pauses, and collects himself. “And they lived happily ever after for the rest of their days or whatever shit. There, _now_ I’m done.”

They sit in silence for a while. Ed doesn’t mind, although he’s a bit restless. “Is that the sort of thing you want from your future, then?” Roy asks eventually. “Teaching?”

“Eh.” Ed shrugs and tries to explain. “Maybe? But there’s lots of things I could do once I’ve fixed my fuck up and Al’s okay. Lots of fulfilling paths to take or whatever. Could teach. Could do research. Could become a doctor. Could open a restaurant. Could go into fucking journalism. Lots of ways to do good in the world. My _point_ is… it’ll be _better_ with you there. I want that. And I think you want that, too. To do whatever we end up doing _together_.”

He hears Roy swallow, and then let out a breath that shakes. “Yes, Edward. I want that, too.” He agrees. His arm tightens momentarily around Ed’s shoulders, and his head tips to lean his cheek against the top of Ed’s head, and then he turns so he can press an achingly gentle kiss to Ed’s hair. Ed turns into Roy and hides his smile against the man’s shoulder.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edit: There are now hover-text translations of the lines in other languages =D

Ed really wishes Roy were here. It would be nice to have an anchor right about now. His head is swimming, has been swimming for hours, and he can’t quite snap himself out of it. It hadn’t been like this when he’d realised he’d known Granny through two lifetimes. It hadn’t been too hard to keep his lives separate in his mind. A little mind-bending sometimes, when Granny would do or say something that knocked him back to a different life, but he’d expected it, and he’d braced for it, so he’d managed to hang on to the order Roy’s simple presence had imposed on his memories.

Roy is consistent, and consistently _different_ in each lifetime. So Ed can orient his memories around him. He can look at a memory and go ‘my soulmate was wearing _that_ face then, so it must have been _that_ life’. He _knows_ he’s Edward Elric, that his soulmate is _Roy Mustang_ , but…

Ever since he’d seen that woman in the labs, he hasn’t been able to separate Edward from Leon, so Roy could be Klaus instead, and he doesn’t _know_. He looks at the memory of Lab Five, and wonders why Leon ever felt the need to go looking for a philosopher’s stone. He looks at his memories of ducking through rubble-strewn streets, bloody sabre in hand and horror choking him, and wonders when the hell Ed ever got ordered to the front lines of a war.

Because she’d been there _both times_.

So they can’t really have been two hundred and fifty years apart, can they?

Ed tries to anchor himself on Al, his _brother_ , but maybe Leon has a brother? He doesn’t, he’s an orphan, but he could have found one, because Ed _is_ Leon and Leon _is_ Ed, which means they both love Al like a brother. He tries to anchor himself on Hughes, when he comes to visit him at the clinic, but that’s even worse. Leon has plenty of commanding officers, even some he doesn’t hate, so maybe one of them is called Hughes?

The Fuhrer stops by, but Ed barely listens to a word he says, can’t even look at the man because it makes his brain jitter, replacing Bradley with Riese, snippets of old speeches ringing in his ears and drowning out anything else. He lets Hughes handle it, because he’s not in a fit state to be doing anything. It’s taking all his effort just to keep some parts of his thoughts straight. “Brother! Snap out of it, please!” Al begs, some time after the Fuhrer has left.

“Trying, Al.” Ed rasps, fisting his hands- No, not the right hand, the automail will snag on his hair- Not the right hand because he doesn’t _have_ a right hand, and why is it so cold in here, Atossa is never this cold during the day- “Shit. Lyco- _Alphonse_. Al, tell me what year it is.” Ed begs.

“1914.” Al says at once. “Your name is Edward Elric.”

“What’s _their_ name?” Ed presses.

“Roy Mustang.” Al tells him, not missing a beat.

Not Klaus. Not Huang. Roy. “Black hair. Black eyes. Stupid smug face.” Although, that part’s always the fucking same, isn’t it? “The Flame Alchemist. Hero of Ishval.” Ironic. So, so ironic. “Grew up in a brothel. Doesn’t actually _work_ at a brothel. Right?”

Hughes snorts. “Right.” He acknowledges lightly, but then sobers up when he asks; “What’s going on, Ed? What’s wrong?”

He trusts Hughes, he does, he knows he does, but he also knows that he doesn’t trust a _single one_ of the officers he’s ever met. He likes a few of them, some of them are even good people, but Leon doesn’t trust any of them as far as he can throw them. Side effect of growing up poor and thieving, he supposes. Side effect of seeing first-hand how the military brass treat whores. “I’m fine, sir.” Leon says, even though it’s blatantly not true.

There’s a long moment of quiet, and Leon drifts into Lexi at the buzzing of the lights, slips sideways into Feng at the stringent scent of medicine. “Brother,” someone calls, and he’s Natan, and he needs to pull himself together because Perry and the other kids _need him_. “Brother, it’s 1914. Your name is Edward Elric.” Ed shudders, memories colliding. “ _His_ name is Roy Mustang.”

Roy. Not Valentino. Not Arthur. It’s 1914 and he’s not a regular army grunt, he’s not a drafted military engineer, or an alkahestric healer. He’s a State Alchemist, and he’d gone investigating the Philosopher’s Stone in a supposedly empty laboratory and he’d found himself in a warzone. He remembers it so clearly because it had been kind of odd. Most of the cooks were just as hard-faced and run ragged as the soldiers, but not her. She’d been beautiful and smiling, and more than one soldier had tripped over themselves trying to impress her. And then Leon could have sworn he saw her in amongst a resistance meeting his squad had been sent in to break up, and his moment of shock had cost him _everything_.

Being gutted isn’t a pleasant way to die.

Except he’s _not dead_. Is he? Maybe he’s just lying there on the floor, hallucinating before the inevitable end? He’s heard people say that your life is supposed to flash before your eyes before you die, and he has a _lot_ of lives to get through.

“On your feet, soldier!”

Three separate lifetimes have him responding to that barked order on instinct. He’s expecting a wave of agony in his gut, but of course there isn’t. Why the hell would there be? He’s not dying. He got a bit banged up, sure, which is why he’s here in the clinic- _his_ clinic, and he might not be dying, but it sure as hell feels like it when Xiaoli is struggling just to _breathe_ and there’s not a damn thing his useless alkahestry can do to save her-

“With me.”

He follows along obediently, recognising Hughes as someone he trusts, even though the dissonance is loud in his head, making it difficult to place the man. He recognises the phone receiver that’s shoved into his hand, too, although as he lifts it to his ear, several corners of his mind – his soul – insist it ought to be a scroll, a long-distance communication array, a radio, a-

“FullMetal?”

“ _Roy_.” Ed breaths, closing his eyes and focusing on Roy’s voice. Male, smooth, with that crisp edge the military had put on it. His voice is higher Huang’s, deeper than Klaus’s, and nothing at all like Xiaoli’s. Of course. He’s _Ed_. He needs the Philosopher’s Stone to get Al’s body back. Perry and the others are some three hundred years dead. He’s not in Cameron, he’s in Central City.

“Edward, what’s wrong?” Roy demands, and he sounds cold and sharp in the way he only gets when he’s panicking internally and trying desperately not to let it show.

“Sorry. Just… bad day.” Ed tells him. “You ever feel like you’re not really _you_ anymore, and then you blink and, like, five hours have gone by?” He asks, because that’s the best way to describe what getting lost inside his own memories feels like without explaining the whole past lives bullshit.

“I’m somewhat familiar with the feeling.” Roy hedges. “What happened?”

Ed opens his mouth, and then stops. He remembers, briefly but _vividly_ , watching Val’s bar go up in flames, the way it had felt like her heart had just stopped, just _given up_ the moment the front windows blew out, and everything beyond that moment became a distant, unreal haze of denial. Remembers the ten painful years after that wondering how they’d found out, how they’d _known_. Had it been her fault? Had she said something careless and been overheard and gotten Val _killed_ when all he’d been doing was trying to help people who were getting crushed under Amestris’s boot?

“Just some bad memories, bastard, don’t have an aneurysm.” Ed says.

“I see.” Roy replies, very clearly not believing him for an instant.

“It’s _fine_. A lab was blown up, but the Fuhrer says he’s got people looking into it, so it’s all taken care of and shit.” Ed tells him flippantly, and as he says it, he finds himself frowning. It seems… odd, is all, for the Fuhrer himself to come all the way to clinic to- what, exactly? The memory is a little fuzzy, even now that his head is so much clearer, but he remembers the way the Fuhrer had ‘joked’ about the Philosopher’s Stone. It wasn’t a joke, he can recognise that with all of Leon’s – and Piper’s and Lexi’s and Oz’s – experience with men like that rattling around in his head.

And then there’s the woman. She was here, in Lab Five in 1914, but she was also _there_ , in Cameron in 1662. He has a really, really bad feeling about that; his intuition is painting lines of conspiracy all over this event, even though he can’t quite figure out where they’re going or what it might mean. There’s also a little kernel of hope taking root in his chest, making his breath come a little sharper than normal. After all, immortality doesn’t just randomly _happen_ to people. There _has_ to be a cause, and there’s only one thing Ed can think of that could enable someone to live for two-hundred and fifty years.

“I… see.” Roy says again, more dubiously, this time, shaking Ed out of his thoughts. “Well, do be more careful from now on, won’t you, FullMetal?” He asks, sounding exasperated, but Ed hears the concern underneath.

“Yeah, yeah. You too or whatever, Colonel Bastard.” Ed replies, and then hangs up.

“Better?” Maes asks, putting a hand on his shoulder in a comforting manner that _also_ serves as a way to nudge him back towards his hospital room.

Ed nods. “How’d you know it’d help?”

Maes gives him a _look_. “Ed, your grounding technique was to run through a list of _Facts About Roy_. You weren’t subtle.” Ed blushes, because, yeah, okay, when he says it like that, it’s obvious, and also really fucking sappy and embarrassing as hell. “I’d be really interested to hear about whatever it was you figured out while you were on the phone, though, and why you didn’t want to tell Roy. _That_ was impressively subtle.”

Ed considers, and then decides he’s going to tell Maes, but not here. Not in a military clinic where anyone could be listening. “I just didn’t want him to go sticking his nose in because he’s an interfering overprotective bastard. The Fuhrer said to leave it alone.” He explains, giving Maes a pointed look. He frowns for just a moment, before his eyes widen as he catches the implication. “Come on, Al.” Ed says, before Maes can respond. “Let’s get out of here. I hate hospitals.”

“You’re feeling better, Brother?” Al checks.

“Yeah. Good as new.” Ed assures him, knocking a fist against Al’s metal arm in a mixture of reassurance and excitement. “I think maybe we should go visit Teacher again soon.” He carries on in a belligerently casual tone of voice.

“Teacher? I suppose it would be nice to see her and Sig again.” Al agrees, blithely cheerful in a way that tells Ed he’s caught on to at least a few of the things Ed isn’t saying. He loves his little brother.

“You know…” Maes begins, falling into step with them as they head out of the clinic. “You’ve had a rough night. How about I buy you a drink before you disappear from Central again for who knows how long, hmm?” He suggests, and he’s definitely better at this ‘pretending not to be up to something’ than Ed or Al are. Ed grins and nods, and isn’t surprised in the _slightest_ when Maes guides them towards Madame Christmas’s.

* * *

 

_“Roy, as your mother, I feel a pressing urge to make sure you’re not living in bachelor squalor.”_

_“I can assure you, Madame, I’m keeping a very clean house.”_

_“And when was the last time you cleaned your gutters?”_

_“I felt an irrepressible need to do housework after FullMetal decided to worry the hell out of us.”_

_“Good. Alright then.”_

_“What the hell is going on? What happened at Lab Five?”_

_“Your boy is back to being cryptic again, so I’m not sure how many answers I have for you.”_

_“Yes, I had noticed.”_

_“Seems he saw someone there who spooked him. A woman, very beautiful, dark hair, red eyes.”_

_“Why did she spook him?”_

_“He said he recognised her from stuff about the Cameron Civil War.”_

_“He thinks she’s two hundred and fifty years old? At least?”_

_“Mmhm. He seems to think a Philosopher’s Stone may be involved, whatever that means.”_

_“It… is possible. I take it that means FullMetal intends to pursue this lead?”_

_“Yes, although… He_ also _said that he didn’t like the way coincidences were piling up.”_

_“Coincidences?”_

_“She was at the Cameron Civil War_ and _a supposedly defunct military lab.”_

_“He thinks she’s affiliated with the military?”_

_“The Fuhrer himself showed up to tell him to keep his nose out.”_

_“That… could be explained by the potential presence of a Philosopher’s Stone.”_

_“That’s what Maes said. Edward scoffed at the idea that the military could ever be that benign.”_

_“Well…”_

_“He cited Ishval and Cameron. Then Maes swore a lot, demanded a map, and drank all my whiskey.”_

_“A map?”_

_“Yes. Whatever this is, it involves all of Amestris, and it’s been going on since Riviere, at least.”_

_“That wasn’t even fifty years after Amestris was_ founded _.”_

_“Exactly.”_

_“Shit.”_

_“Oh, it gets worse.”_

_“…Worse?”_

_“Maes lined my map up with an array your boy says is likely used in making Philosopher’s Stones.”_

_“Your map of Amestris.”_

_“Each of the points matched the site of one of Amestris’ most bloody battles.”_

_“Like Ishval.”_

_“Yes. And like Cameron, and Riviere, and a bunch of others.”_

_“That is definitely worse. I don’t think I’ve had enough whiskey for this conversation.”_

_“Mm. I know the feeling.”_

_“What the hell are we supposed to do with this?”_

_“Do you really need me to answer that?”_

_“No. We figure out a way to stop them, of course.”_

_“Good boy. And Roy?”_

_“Yes, Mother?”_

_“Be very, very careful.”_

_“I will.”_

_“Your boy also wanted me to tell you to ‘take care of your stupid pretty face, bastard’.”_

_“I- ahem- If you have the opportunity, tell him ‘likewise’.”_

_“Heheh. Will do, Roy-Boy.”_

* * *

Visiting the ruins of Persepolis was a bad idea. Ed knows that now. Of course, at the time, he thought it would be very educational, and it has been, but he underestimated how painful it would be to walk through the barely-recognisable ruins of a city he once lived in and loved.

At least now he knows what happened to the place, thanks to Greed’s explanations and the remnants of the array they’d found. And he knows what happened to Winry’s parents, too. He goes to visit their graves, but only part of his mourning is for them. “We taught you _better_.” He whispers, aching with a strange sense of loss for all that wasted potential. He’s thinking of Queen Aesara and the King who had gone along with that travesty, and how it hurts to think that he could have been descended from someone so _good_. Thinking, too, of Empress Nianzhen and her descendants, who are currently enjoying Teacher’s hospitality while looking for immortality for their Emperor father.

The thought almost makes Ed snort. If only the old fool knew just how _disappointed_ his ancestors would be with him. The part of Ed that was once Feng is composing a furious lecture in the back of his mind about the _shame_ being brought upon their house by the Emperor’s behaviour. Xiaoli would undoubtedly have been able to deliver a lecture _far_ more cutting. He half wants to ring Roy up just to see if he could coax something like that out of him, but he won’t.

They have far more important things to discuss, anyway. Like the fact that Amestris is going to go the same way as Xerxes unless they can figure out how to stop the Homunculi and their creator. Like the fact that, with the revelation that a Philosopher’s Stone is made of _human souls_ , Ed suddenly has no idea how he’s going to restore Al’s body.

He shies away from the thought of using human lives as a bargaining chip for his own – or his brother’s – personal gain, but there’s a corner of his brain that wonders… what happens to the souls that get used that way. Presumably the gate takes them. Does that destroy them? Or could it possibly be a way of freeing them, to be reborn again, at last? Is Ed only entertaining that possibility because he desperately wants to hope that maybe all his years of research haven’t been in vain?

_His_ soul passed through the gate, and he came out the other side alive. A little muddled, but still basically whole in spirit if not in body. It’s different, he knows. He was the bargainer, not the tradable goods. He wasn’t dead, or dying – was he? – he was just paying a toll. There are too many variables to make his own experience anything close to a decent control set.

“Brother… I think there’s someone at Mum’s grave.” Al says quietly.

Ed’s head snaps up, and he looks over and he sees-

He’s three years old – He’s eleven years old – standing in his father’s study – playing in the branches of his family’s orchard – holding up his first alchemical success for his father’s approval – spying on a golden-haired vagabond sleeping under the plum blossoms- He’s four years old – He’s thirteen years old – standing in the hallways with tears stinging his eyes – clutching a letter from the _royal court_ – watching his father’s broad shoulders walk out the door – searching desperately through the house for any sign of his teacher-

“ _What the fuck_ -?!” Ed chokes out, staggering a step back. He thought it had been quiet, but it must have carried, because Hohenheim looks around.

“Edward.”

Ed recoils, the dissonance rattling through him like a ricocheting bullet, leaving him feeling torn through and ripped apart and _so betrayed_. Because- because even through the confusion, he can still figure out what’s going on. He’s been through this before.

Four hundred years, and not a single wrinkle different.

“You look pale, Edward.” Hohenheim remarks, walking closer, his brow furrowed, and that’s the last straw. He doesn’t want his damn concern, and the bastard better not come one step closer to his little brother!

Ed charges.

Al yelps, Hohenheim jerks backwards, but for once, the chaos in his mind is working in his favour. Hohenheim is braced for an Amestrian kid’s idea of fighting, but Ed is more than just one life, now, and he’s more Feng than Edward when he sweeps into range and launches himself into the air. His foot connects with his teacher’s- father’s jaw and sends him staggering back, and Ed spins and flips back onto his feet, and whips around, flesh fist leading, catching him in the solar plexus. Hohenheim doesn’t look very pained by the blow, in fact he looks sternly disappointed, and this time, it’s Proteus who lunges in low and catches him around the knees in a one-armed hold to flip him clean over his shoulder and onto his back in the dirt. Then Ed spins, plants one knee on Hohenheim’s torso, claps, and drives his new automail blade straight down into his father’s- his teacher’s- _the homunculus’s_ chest.

“BROTHER!” Al screams.

Hohenheim looks _stunned_ , but he’s not even _bleeding_. “You really hate me enough to kill me? Your own father?” He asks, sounding, of all things, disappointed.

“We might share blood, but you are _not_ my father.” Ed snarls. He knows this, knows what it is to have a father who’s actually _there_ , knows what it is to _be_ a father, and a mother, of children who share his blood and children who don’t. He _knows_ what it is to be a teacher, to be a student of a teacher who is as good as family, who is welcome in your home and never betrays that trust. “Nǐ fàngqìle wǒmen! Wǒmen guòqù gěi nǐ hàokè, hé nǐ fàngqìle wǒmen.”

“Shénme?” Hohenheim asks, startled. “Edward, what-? What are you talking about?”

“Oh dear.” Al says. “It’s 1914, brother.”

Ed knows that should mean something to him, but it’s so very far away right now, there are so many disjoined memories clamouring for attention. The memory of the Royal Palace as it was at the coronation of Queen Aesara fills his mind, overlaid by the crumbling ruins half swallowed by the sands, and it’s Ed who saw it but it’s Proteus’s heart that breaks, and there’s hardly any difference in who, exactly, feels the rage filling them at Hohenheim’s confusion. “Ísoun esý? Prodótis! Dolofónos!”

At that, Hohenheim flinches, and looks up at Ed with sudden fear. “Ochi, den- Who are you?” He whispers in horror. “What have you done to my son?”

His mind is a battleground, a dozen answers to the first question swarming his mind and leaving him more confused than ever, but at least every inch of him knows he doesn’t like being called ‘son’ by this man. He snarls wordlessly, and shakes his head, scrambling for coherence so he can demand answers. “How dare you?! What have _you_ done to _our people_?”

A giant metal hand scoops him up by the back of his jacket like a misbehaving kitten, and Ed goes limp in confusion. A metal hand? Since when has Lyco had- Since when was Shan- “Brother, I know you’re upset, but you need to calm down. Dad, are you alright?”

Hohenheim pushes himself up and rubs at the place where Ed stabbed him. His shirt is torn, but there’s not a mark on him, otherwise. He peers up at them with confusion still writ large across his features. “Alphonse?” He asks in bewilderment.

“Yes.” Al says, simple and short, but it’s enough to make Hohenheim’s expression fall into pained lines. He looks between them both as Al finally sets Ed- Feng- back on his feet.

“What…?” Hohenheim chokes out.

“I think we’d all like answers.” Al says, perfectly cool and reasonable. “But perhaps not in a graveyard, hmm? Let’s go back to Granny’s.” Proteus shakes his head, because their grandmother is _dead_ , and her house is a ruin. “Pinako’s.” Al corrects. “Mrs Rockbell’s.”

Right, the automail mechanic. Lexi nods, and lets Al guide them down a street that is painfully familiar, even though she knows she’s never been to Risembool before. Which is a ridiculous thought, she grew up here- No, she grew up in Rush Valley, where Winry is at the moment. Ed knuckles at his temple with his automail hand, even though he knows the ache building behind his eyes isn’t physical.

“Do you need to call Roy again?” Al asks, as he nudges Ed up the steps to the porch of Granny’s house. Ed suffers a moment of complete disorientation, the wooden house overlaid with sandstone and marble, and the memory calls up another surge of grief and rage. He forces his head clear by orienting around the memory of Roy. _Roy_ was the one who’d been here, lifting him half out of the wheelchair to shake some sense back into him, not Huang.

“Probably, but I want answers _first_.” Ed growls.

“…Alright, brother. If you’re sure.”

Ed just stomps into the house and throws himself at the couch, setting his automail on the arm of the couch, still pointedly weaponised as he glowers at Hohenheim. “Are you boys back alrea-” Granny calls, sticking her head out of the workshop, and cutting herself off mid-sentence when she spots Hohenheim. “Ah. I see. Is everything alright?” She asks carefully.

“Not in the _slightest_.” Ed replies frostily, not taking his eyes off Hohenheim.

Hohenheim looms forwards, looking down at Edward with a deep frown, and Edward stares right back, not hiding an inch of his betrayal and rage. “Who are you?” Hohenheim asks, choosing not to sit. Al has perched himself carefully next to Ed on the couch, all his huge metal limbs tucked in to make himself seem smaller.

“You first.” Ed retorts.

For a long moment, there’s silence, and then Hohenheim sighs. “For the first part of my life, I was known only as Slave Twenty-Three.”

Ed can’t help but snort. At least Huang had managed to hang on to his name, even if he’d admitted once that most of his masters had never bothered to try and pronounce it. “Pretentious, much? Geez, how up your own arse do you have to be to want to gloat _that_ badly about owning twenty-three _people_?”

Hohenheim blinks at him, and then sort of almost smiles. “Quite. Clearly you know more than- How much do you know about how Xerxes was destroyed?”

Ed grits his teeth. “I know that the people were slaughtered and turned into a Philosopher’s Stone. I know it was done to make some of the court immortal. I know that one of them came _here_ because they thought it was a great lark and wanted to do it again. I know that _that_ wasn’t you, because _you_ were Xing, running out on people who relied on you, big surprise.”

“ _Oh_.” Al breathes, and then cringes, which is a fairly noisy affair in the armour.

“How do you know that?” Hohenheim asks, frowning deeply again.

“ _You first_.” Ed repeats impatiently.

Finally, Hohenheim deigns to sit, and Granny appears a moment later with drinks and sandwiches. Ed doesn’t touch his, too busy watching Hohenheim as he explains all about the Dwarf in the Flask and what had happened to bring about Xerxes’s destruction. “When I woke up I found that the Dwarf in the Flask now appeared identical to myself, and that every single person in Xerxes was… gone.” Hohenheim concludes awkwardly.

Ed scowls. He feels a little bad, now, for assuming Hohenheim had been a willing participant. His story is similar enough to Huang’s that Ed feels an unwilling kernal of sympathy lodge itself in his heart. “That’s awful.” Al says quietly.

“Yes.” Hohenheim agrees solemnly. Then he draws himself up, reabsorbing some of the strength telling his tale appeared to have sapped from him, and looks at Ed. “Now it’s your turn.” He instructs, before asking, yet again; “Who are you?”

It takes Ed a moment to sort his brain out, because there are so many answers to that question, and he needs to get them in the _right damn order_ for this, but his head is still in chaos, and it’s hard to remember who was when. Hohenheim opens his mouth to press, but Al interrupts before he can. “Give him a minute, Dad.” Ed has never been more grateful for his brother, and he closes his eyes in an attempt to focus and not get distracted by Hohenheim’s unchanging face.

“I _am_ Edward Elric, the FullMetal Alchemist.” Ed states. “But I’m _also_ Proteus of Atossa, Tutor to Crown Princess Aesara, Savant and Professor of Architectural Alchemy at the Grand Persepolis University.” He hears Hohenheim suck in a sharp, shocked breath, and presses on before he can be interrupted, and lose the thread of his lives. “ _And_ I am Yi Feng, Chief Healer of the Royal Court of Xing, First Consort to her Imperial Majesty, the Divine Empress Liu Xiaoli, Daughter of Heaven, Sovereign of the Stars and All Beneath Them.” It’s easy to rattle off the titles – he heard them so many times at the Imperial Court – and it settles him a little, to think of Xiaoli. Because as much as they had a passing resemblance, she really hadn’t looked all that much like Roy, and it makes it easier to pull the two lifetimes apart in his head.

He opens his eyes to look at Hohenheim, and finds him staring slack-jawed and shocked. It’s kind of funny. With a snort, Ed finally grabs his sandwich and starts devouring it. The sound seems to knock Hohenheim out of his stunned reverie, and he shakes himself. “I- This is- _How_? You…” He shakes his head, and just stares at Ed with a pleadingly bewildered expression.

“Huh.” Ed muses, frowning at Hohenheim. “So you don’t remember, either.”

“Re-remember what?” Hohenheim asks, bewildered.

“Huh.” Al says, sitting a little straighter. “Fascinating. I wonder why…?”

“Why what?” Hohenheim presses.

“Did, um… Did Granny tell you about…?” Al asks, gesturing awkwardly at himself.

Hohenheim gives them both a deeply disappointed look, which makes Ed want to stab him again. “She told me you tried to bring your mother back, yes.” He states, in a tone that matches his expression.

“Yeah, well. Turns out that some people who pass through the gate come out the other side with the memories of everyone they’ve been before suddenly awake in their heads. Still haven’t figured out why Teacher and I remember, but Al and apparently you don’t.” Ed explains flippantly.

“Everyone you’ve been before?” Hohenheim echoes, distracted from his attempt at paternal disappointment by academic curiosity. “You’re talking about reincarnation.” He realises.

“Yup.”

“And you…” Hohenheim blinks at him rapidly. “You were Feng?” He asks.

“Yup.” Ed says again, with a vicious sort of false cheer in his voice. “It was really fucking shitty of you to wander off in the middle of a plague, you know.”

“I was going to help.” Hohenheim told him, frowning.

“Yeah, but it sure would have been nice to know that _then_ , asshole.” Ed shoots back. “But whatever, fuck if I’m going to waste my time explaining shit like common courtesy to you. If you _desperately_ need to know anything else, I guess Al can tell you. _I’m_ going to give Roy a call.”

Ed stomps off toward the phone, but he’s not quick enough – or loud enough – to drown out the sound of Hohenheim asking; “Who’s Roy?”

Nor Al’s very awkward response of; “Oh, well, um, you see…”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I'm late, it's been one of those weeks =_= Enjoy~

Ed is never ever, _ever_ going to get tired of looking at Al’s face. It’s perfect. _He’s_ perfect. And real. And _alive_. It’s one of the best things Ed has ever seen, and he’s spent pretty much the entire night just staring like a creeper while Al sleeps.

Al’s been sleeping a lot, and when he’s awake, he’s been a bit disoriented, but Ed doesn’t blame him. It must be overwhelming to suddenly be in his real body again, with all his senses back, not to mention the emotional trauma of the last- Well, the last five years, more or less.

So Ed sits, and holds Al’s hand, and watches him sleep. The hospital switches from night shift to morning shift around him, and a nurse comes by with breakfast for Ed – Al’s not up to solids yet – and another nurse comes by to check up on Al. And then visiting hours officially start, and people start dropping by. Al sleeps right through Teacher’s visit, Winry comes and sits with him and Ed for most of the morning, and Ling and Mei and Fuery and Breda all come and go while she’s there without Al making so much as a peep.

He wakes up near lunch time, bleary-eyed and bewildered. “Hey, Al.” Ed greets. Al blinks squintily at him and it’s the most adorable, perfect, amazing thing Ed’s ever seen. “Hey, how’re you feeling?”

“ _Guh_.” Al complains. “Everything hurts. Why am I so happy that everything hurts?”

Ed laughs, but also calls a nurse to see if they can get Al some more or better painkillers while Winry chokes on a sound that’s half laughter, half sobbing. Maes and Gracia and Elysia arrive before the nurse gets back. “Hey, you’re awake!” Maes cheers, while Elysia yells a greeting and gets shushed by Gracia.

“Hello. It’s good to meet you face-to-face, Alphonse.” Gracia says, light and warm.

Al scrunches his perfect nose up. It’s adorable. “But we’ve met before? Right?” He checks.

Gracia’s smile falters a little. “Yes, of course. I’m sorry, Alphonse, I was just teasing.”

“Right.” Al nods. “Sorry, I’m…” He trails off. “I’m feeling very disoriented right now. A lot of things feel like… like I was dreaming. Or like maybe I made them up…” He sniffs a little and disentangles his hand from Winry’s to scrub at his face wearily.

“I’m not surprised.” Maes offers warmly. “But don’t worry about it. You’ve been through a lot, so just take your time to recover, and everything will come into focus eventually.”

Al smiles, and Ed was wrong, _this_ is the best thing he’s ever seen, emaciated cheeks and all. “I will. Thank you.” He says, and then the nurse returns and distracts them all. They chat for a little while, and Alphonse doesn’t really join in, but he does stay awake for a whole half-hour, and drinks some water that actually stays down – thank fuck – before drifting off in the middle of a conversation about Winry’s work in Rush Valley.

The Hugheses take that as their cue to tip-toe out, and Winry decides to go with them, since she’s staying at their place and she needs to get lunch. She admits that skipped breakfast because she’d rushed straight to the hospital on waking to make sure it hadn’t been a dream that Al really was back. Ed stays, because _of course he does_ , and one of the nurses brings him lunch, which he eats one handed because there isn’t a force in this universe that could make him let go of Alphonse’s hand.

Al wakes up again when the light outside the window is turning red with the approaching sunset. “How are you feeling?” Ed asks again. He’s pretty sure he’s going to be asking that like an overly-fretful nanny for a _long_ time to come.

“Lost.” Al replies, staring at the ceiling.

Ed frowns, not liking how glazed Al’s eyes are. “What sort of lost?”

“I don’t know… Where am I?” Al asks, and Ed’s heart seizes in his chest.

“At the military hospital in Central City.” Ed tells him, but if he thought that was going to reassure Al, he was wrong. Al’s eyes fly wide, and he tries to sit up. He’s too weak, and fails, but that only makes the panic worse. “Al, Alphonse, calm down, it’s okay!” Ed says, jerking up and reaching out to his brother. Al goes still, staring up at him wide-eyed and panting, and Ed sets to stroking Al’s hair back into order with faintly trembling hands.

“No, I can’t- I’ve got to- Wh-where’s Perry?” Al asks.

Ed blinks. “Who?”

“Perry. Perry Morel. He was with me before I-” Al cuts himself off with a half-sob, eyes wide and lost in horror, and Ed makes a hushing sound on instinct. Everything else is tipping sideways in his head, and for a moment, he can smell hot sand and spices, not antiseptic and cold metal.

“Peregrine Morel?” Ed checks, his mind filling with memories of the small blonde boy, traumatised to near catatonia, that Arthur – Roy – had passed to him from out of the secret compartment in his trade wagon.

“Yes! Do you know him? Is he okay?!” Al demands.

Ed feels like an _idiot_. “Yes, I do. He’s safe, saghirti. Arthur got him out of Riviere safe and sound.” Natan says in something of a daze.

“Oh.” Al goes boneless, and starts to cry. It’s so quiet anyone who wasn’t paying as much attention to him as Ed is might be forgiven for missing it. He doesn’t sob, he barely even breathes harder, but there are tears leaking out from under his lashes and into his hair. Instinct – Ed’s, Natan’s, it doesn’t _matter_ – has Ed sitting on the edge of the bed to pull him up into his arms and cradle him close, rocking slightly and hushing him in a mangled mish-mash of Amestrian and Ishvalan.

“Is this a bad time?”

Ed looks up, and is thoroughly surprised to see Madame Christmas, Vanessa, and Nina standing in the doorway. Ed wants to ask what they’re doing here, wants to tell them to come back later, wants to give Nina a hug like always, but before he can decide which is the best option, he feels Al go stiff in his arms. He looks down at him in concern. “ _Oh_.” Al says, in a tone of revelation. “ _Nina._ ”

Ed blinks, and looks over at Nina, then at Al, because… _What?_

Nina takes her name as an invitation to slip past Vanessa’s restraining hand and pad up to the side of the bed. “Are you okay, Al?” She asks, looking adorably worried under the hood she’s using to hide her not-quite-human features.

“I-” Al says, stumbles, laughs. “I’m a lot better, now.” He says, so earnest it couldn’t be anything but the complete truth. “I’m really happy to see you, Nina.” He adds with a bright smile that Nina echoes. She takes _that_ as an invitation to clamber up onto Al’s bed and sit next to his knees. Vanessa makes an exasperated noise, and Madame Christmas chuckles.

“I’m glad I came, then! Vanessa said I shouldn’t because someone might recognise me, but I wanted to come anyway, so I asked Auntie Chris instead, and _she_ said it would be fine as long as I’m careful and don’t take off my coat where strangers can see. And _obviously_ I wouldn’t, so it’s fine.” Nina explains. “I was really worried when I heard you were in the hospital, but they said you were just recovering because your body had been remade with alchemy, like- Well, like how Big Brother helped fix mine.”

“Yes, just like that.” Al agrees, still staring in something like awe. “I’m not sorry I’ve got my body back, but staying in hospital is really very boring, so- so will you tell me what you’ve been doing?” He asks. Nina, of course, launches into an enthusiastic retelling of daily life growing up in a brothel, and Ed decides it’s time to set Al back in bed properly, although he props the pillows up a bit so Al is half-sitting. Their eyes meet and Al mouths ‘Thank you’ at Ed, looking so painfully grateful that it breaks Ed’s heart.

Ed shakes his head subtly, and then mouths, ‘Nina? Really?’ at his brother.

Al just beams, helplessly in love, and Ed huffs an exasperated laugh. Then he extracts himself and goes to join the two women in the doorway. He really doesn’t want to leave Al, but he knows what it’s like when you recognise your soulmate for the first time, the way all the memories just settle back into their place, organised around that soul that is ineffably familiar and right. He figures Al deserves a chance to bask in that feeling for a while without interruption.

“What are you all doing here? Or did Nina come just to visit us?” Ed asks.

“No. We also came to check on Roy.” Madame Christmas tells him, and Ed startles with realisation.

Ed is an _idiot_. Al is not the only one who got dragged through the Gate recently, after all. He’d already been _planning_ to go find Roy once he could convince himself to leave Al’s side, but somehow he’d forgotten that Roy had been forced to become the fifth human sacrifice.

He stares at Madame Christmas, who eyes him like he’s a moron, but one that she’s at least moderately fond of. “He could probably do with a visit, if you’re-” Ed’s already pelting off down the hallway. “Room 205!” Madame Christmas calls after him with a cackle. Ed waves a hand over his shoulder in distracted acknowledgement.

He finds the right room and skids to a stop in the doorway, breathing only a little hard. Roy is sitting up in the hospital bed, staring out the window which means all Ed can see of him is his hair and one ear. Hawkeye is in the bed opposite, but Ed doesn’t have the attention to spare for her at the moment. “Roy.” He greets breathlessly.

Roy turns towards him, and after blinking once, he smiles, slow and warm in a way that brings heat to Ed’s cheeks on pure reflex. “Edward.” He responds, and damn it all but the way he says it makes it sound like a fucking _caress_.

“Sorry I didn’t visit sooner.” Ed says as he crosses the room. He could sit on the visitor’s chair, but why would he when he can sit on the edge of Roy’s bed and feel the warmth of Roy’s knee seeping through the sheets into his hip.

“Nonsense.” Roy dismisses easily. “Of course you’d want to stay with Alphonse.”

Ed studies him, wondering if Roy remembers or not. He _hopes_ he does, hopes that this new easiness he’s detecting in Roy is _memory_ , but it could just be that he’s finally over the whole age difference issue. Ed can’t tell which it is; can’t tell if his own hope is clouding his perception or not. “You got your eyes back.” He points out, for lack of anything better to say.

“Dr Marcoh is a miracle worker.” Roy replies blithely, and Ed snorts. There’s a long pause in which they just stare at each other. Ed doesn’t know what Roy is looking for, maybe he’s just looking for the sake of _looking_ , but Ed is searching for any hint in his expression that he _knows_. “Edward?” Roy says again.

“Yeah?”

Roy smiles, slow and ever so slightly wicked, and Ed flushes warm all the way through. “Can I tell you a story?” He asks.

“Uh, sure?” Ed replies, bewildered, because that was _not_ what he was expecting Roy to say with _that_ sort of smile on his face. Slowly, his brain changes gears.

“Once upon a time, in a far away land, there was a poor down-on-her-luck artist.” Roy begins, his eyes bright with laughter, and Ed’s heart trip-stumbles in his chest, because _oh_. Oh, _that’s_ what he meant. The grin that spreads across Ed’s face is so wide his cheeks ache and he doesn’t even care. “She travelled from city to city, looking for a patron who wouldn’t ask her to paint anything _boring_.” Ed closes his eyes for a moment, seeing red hair and _so many freckles_ , because Roy had said that just the way Fiametta used to, and the memory sings in his chest. “One day, when she was minding her own business in the market, the most beautiful creature she ever laid eyes was so engrossed in a book on biological alchemy that she walked right into her.”

A blush floods Ed’s cheeks, and he gives up trying to be patient and let Roy tell the story. He grabs the stupid bastard’s face in both hands and pulls him into a kiss. Roy laughs into it, tries to kiss back, but they’re both grinning too widely for it to be anything other than awkward and clumsy and _amazing_. Leaning back, Roy stares at him in clear delight. “I haven’t finished telling the story.” He chides.

Ed thumps him on the shoulder. “I already know this story, idiot.”

“So you do.” Roy agrees, tone soft, expression melting into something so tender and loving that Ed’s heart squeezes in his chest, and he abruptly resents every single particle of air between them. So he closes the distance, twists up onto his knees and swings one over Roy’s legs to straddle him, presses into him and kisses him _properly_. And this time, Roy kisses him back without reserve, without restraint, passionate and achingly slow, like he’s savouring every press of lips, every shared breath, every last taste of Ed’s mouth. Like he gets it, like he understands that Ed loves him through wars and plagues and disasters and _lifetimes_. Because he _does_. He _knows_ , because he loves Ed just the same.

In one momentary pause for breath, Ed can’t help but say; “This is me making a move on you, by the way.”

Roy beams at him and presses their foreheads together. “I had noticed.”

“I told you so.” Ed sasses, and Roy laughs, tipping his head back against the pillow behind him and scrunching his eyes shut. Ed bites his lip to keep from kissing him again and ruining the moment.

Hawkeye chooses that moment to interject. “If you two are going to have sex, please inform me so I can leave the room before clothes start coming off.”

Ed’s face feels like it’s on _fire_. Roy, of course, is entirely unperturbed. When you’ve been a back-alley prostitute in another lifetime, not much about sex is going to shame you, and _certainly_ not the simple suggestion of having it in a semi-public space. “I thought you didn’t approve?” Roy says, looking past Ed’s shoulder at Hawkeye.

“I didn’t.” Hawkeye confesses. “You’ve changed my mind. But please, while I am rather fond of you both, I am not _that_ fond of you.” Roy mimes getting stabbed through the heart. Ed hits him again. “Do I need to vacate the room for a while?” Hawkeye asks, ignoring both of them with aplomb.

Ed clears his throat. “No.” He says firmly.

“I concur.” Roy agrees, which is a relief. Because Ed is sixteen, and Roy is beautiful, and he’s been daydreaming of finally getting to touch him for _years_. If Roy had attempted to persuade him, he probably would have succeeded. “We have plenty of time.”

* * *

When Madame Christmas had suggested the idea of a ‘yeay, we survived’ party, Ed had been dubious. Sure, they’d all come together to fight the Dwarf in the Flask, but that was when they were fighting for their lives and had a common enemy. Now? Teacher still hates the military, and the military aren’t sure how to act around the Madame’s girls and boys, and then there’s the disaster that is trying to put Winry and Scar in the same room.

On the other hand, introducing Nina to Darius and Heinkel is pretty amazing, and watching everyone greet Al with delight and enthusiasm at seeing him out of the hospital at last is fantastic, and seeing everyone actually relaxed and enjoying the new, fragile peace is just _good_.

Ed sticks pretty close to Al the whole time, because his brother only _just_ got out of the hospital, and he’s still thin enough that Ed kind of worries that he’s going to snap in half at a moment’s notice. Al bears it with good grace, and just drags Ed with him as he wanders the room in short bursts with lots of rests in order to socialise.

“Mr Alphonse!” Mei calls out when she spots him, and immediately latches onto Al. Ed feels a little bad for her and her blindingly obvious crush, but he figures she’ll bounce back from the disappointment well enough, given time. Ling follows in her wake like a chaperone, and Lanfan ghosts along beside him, looking a little less on edge than before.

“You guys still aren’t gone yet?” Ed asks, even though he doesn’t really mean it the way he makes it sound. He’s mostly just… well, he’s concerned about the state of things in Xing, honestly.

Ling laughs at him and waves an airy hand in dismissal that Ed figures he means just as much as Ed meant his question. “Soon, soon!” He promises lightly. “But the Madame of this fine establishment promised us a party, and we could hardly refuse free food and drink, now, could we?”

“Freeloader.” Ed accuses.

“Which one of us?” Ling asks, trying for innocent, which really doesn’t sit well on his sly, smirking face _at all_.

“Both of you.” Ed retorts without missing a beat, and the grin that spreads across Ling’s face is a bit too jagged to belong to the Prince alone.

“Oh, I’m pulling my weight around here. _More than_.” Greed informs him. “If anyone around here’s a freeloader it’s _him_. He promised me a throne. And concubines. And banquets every day.” Ed snorts, because while the Emperor of Xing might technically get those things, Ed’s pretty sure that Ling hasn’t warned Greed about just how much _work_ he’s going to have to do to keep it.

“Aha! There you are!” Maes emerges from the crowd, a dangerously intent look on his face. Ed is just glad that it’s aimed at Ling and Mei instead of himself this time. “Oh. Hi, Ed, Al.” Maes greets. “Roy was looking for you earlier, hoping to escape Vanessa’s clutches.”

“And you were looking for us, Mr Hughes?” Ling segues curiously.

“Yes, actually.” Maes confirmed. “Ed here mentioned something to me about the First Empress of Xing a while back, and I’ve been meaning to find a moment to ask you about her, since there’s so little information about Xing to be found here in Amestris.”

Oh. Oh, Ed couldn’t keep the grin off his face if he _tried_. This is going to be amazing, and he’s so, so glad he gets to be here for this. It’s just a pity Roy isn’t. “You’ve heard of Empress Xiaoli?” Ling asks of Ed, looking genuinely surprised.

Mei’s head comes up and around like a bloodhound catching a scent. Ed shrug-nods casually, although he’s sure his shit-eating grin gives him away. “Yeah, a bit. Our shitty old man was around there when she first took the throne.” He added as a form of deflection, since all the Xingese are staring at him in open curiosity. Maes gives him a sharp look for that, but lets it go in favour of his interrogation-ambush.

“Well, she was of the Liu clan.” Ling begins, a frown of concentration crossing his face as he thinks. It was fairly distant history, but as a Prince, Ed has no doubt that he learned about her. “She’s obviously most famous for being the first female ruler in Xingese history, but she actually did a lot for our country during her reign.” For once, Ling sounds almost serious, and it makes Ed smile and wish, again, that Roy were there. He glances around, wondering if he can bring himself to miss part of the conversation to go fetch him.

“A lot, how?” Maes questions, clearly intrigued.

“Well, ensuring that women _could_ become empress after her, for one.” Ling begins. “She was quite young when she came to the throne, seventeen, I think?”

“ _Sixteen_.” Mei corrected. “She was sixteen years old, and she was one of the youngest of Emperor Longwei’s children, and some of her brothers were twice her age, and she _still_ beat them all to the throne and kept it from them for _twenty years_. She’s the reason _all_ the clans, even the poor ones, have knowledge of alkahestry and can send at least one child to the Great Hospital to study healing alkahestry every ten years without having to pay for it. She made bride-stealing punishable by death, and she built the Houses of Fallen Stars, and she made the royal tributes so much more fair-”

“She changed it from a fixed payment to a tithe system, right?” Ed interjects before he can help himself. “So poorer clans didn’t have to destitute themselves just to appease the royal court.”

Mei brightens and nods enthusiastically. “Right! She was _so amazing_. She just… Her sibling and Uncles and everyone _hated_ that she managed to win the throne by _curing an entire plague_ , so they tried to force her to become a- a _broodmare_ , because of the rules about each clan having an heir, but she wouldn’t even hear of it. The stories of how she blackmailed them into allowing her to rule properly were some of my favourite of all my lessons! She was so clever and determined and she talked circles around _all of them_. She never let _anything_ stop her. She’s my _hero_.”

Ed’s sure his grin is going to break his face in a minute. And then – _then_ – the only thing that could possibly make this moment better happens, and Roy slides out of the milling crowd to hear the trailing end of Mei’s fangirl ranting. He leans in to press a kiss to Ed’s hair and murmur a greeting, and then _walks right into it_ by asking; “Who are we talking about?”

“Empress Xiaoli.” Ed informs him through the laughter caught in his throat.

Roy blinks at him, visibly winding back to what he’d heard of Mei’s little speech, and then goes a very fetching shade of pink. “Oh?” He asks, _almost_ succeeding at sounding unaffected. His tone catches Al’s attention, and he looks over with raised eyebrows. He takes in the sight of the pair of them, one blushing and one grinning ear-to-ear, and realisation dawns on his face, tinged with the same unholy glee that’s filling Ed’s chest.

“She was the first woman to take the Xingese throne.” Mei informs him, and then launches right back into explaining exactly how many amazing and wonderful things her hero had done for her country. Roy manages not to look _too_ flustered by it, but Ed can tell that if he didn’t feel like he needed to keep up the pretence, he’d be going all sappy-fond and ridiculous right now. “-and even on her _deathbed_ she managed to outwit those _traitors_ and put her daughter on the throne, so that Empress Nianzhen could continue to improve the country. Isn’t that just the most amazing thing?”

Roy’s smile is ever so slightly bittersweet, and he clears his throat quietly before he speaks. “You clearly admire her very much.” He hesitates, but Ed nudges him, and after a glance at Ed’s knowing look, he relents, and adds with complete sincerity; “I’m sure you – both of you – bring much honour to her name.” It sounds a little clumsy in Amestrian, but Ed can see how the particular phrasing catches _both_ of them. Mei more than Ling – Mei actually tears up a little even as she practically glows with pride – but Ling does flash a smile that looks softer and more genuine than his usual wide smirk.

Of course, there’s also the sharp, curious look that Lanfan gives them, no doubt wondering how and why Roy had known to phrase it like that, _and_ the matching look that Maes flashes in their direction. Neither of them call him on it, though. Instead, Maes pulls out an honest to god notebook and starts asking for more precise dates and names and details, which distracts everyone.

Ed leans into Roy, and is grateful for the arm that winds around his shoulders. It’s strange, because most of the time, he can deal with Ling and Mei like peers, like the allies and friends they are, but sometimes, in moments like this, the part of him that is Feng rises to the fore, and it’s so difficult not to feel ridiculously paternal towards them. Lineage is such an important part of Xingese culture, and these are Feng’s descendants; his daughter’s children’s children’s – ad nauseam – children. And Ed _is_ Feng, and so sometimes, Ed looks at these two young heirs to his family and legacy, and feels himself come over alarmingly Maes-like with paternal pride.

That’s not to say he doesn’t also sometimes come over all paternal with the urge to give them a good scolding. Them, or more often other members of their family. “Do you know how fucking tempted I am to give them a giant lecture in letter-form to take back to their father?” He asks, in an undertone, and in Xerxesian, just to make absolutely sure no one can eavesdrop. Well, no one except Al, who looks over with a raised eyebrow. Ed ruffles his hair in retaliation, and Al wrinkles his adorable little nose, and Ed marvels, yet again, at his brother’s living, breathing body.

“I think I have some idea.” Roy replies in the same language, voice gone all crisp like it does whenever he’s forced to give a soldier a dressing down.

“Can you imagine how much he would _freak_?” Ed asks, because the thought is _so_ damn satisfying. Ling and Mei coming home from far off lands with a letter written in a long-dead Empress’s hand, berating the Emperor for putting his own well-being above the needs of his country, his people, and his children, and sending the entire court into a tizzy over the threat of disappointed ancestors. God, that would be so satisfying.

Roy tugs on the end of his ponytail, not nearly hard enough for it to actually be the chiding gesture he’s pretending it is. “I’m fairly certain no one would actually believe I had written it, and it would only get them into trouble.”

“Yeah.” Ed agrees reluctantly. “Ruin all my fun, Bastard.”

* * *

Ed is still basking in the fact that Roy remembers months later. The little things that let him know never fail to make him feel ridiculously squishy on the inside. Things like the way Roy will make him old favourite dishes on the days Ed stays at his for dinner, or the way he tests old remembered ticks like whether Ed’s still only ticklish on the back of his neck or not, or even the way he casually shows Elysia how to do her hair in a deceptively complex-looking braid-twist thing.

And the way his eyes go all soft and nostalgic when Ed drags him into the library for a research-date one weekend. They slip into Xerxesian as they bicker about which reference texts are better, and Roy makes short jokes that Ed threatens to punch him in the eye for, and when Ed looks up after being absorbed in reading for over an hour, Roy is watching him instead of reading and there’s a sketch of Ed on the corner of his notes.

They’re interrupted sometime in the evening, when their heads are bent together over a diagram and they’re debating in low tones to avoid the wrath of the librarians. The loud thump and small tremors of a lot of paper hitting their table startles them both, and Ed’s head snaps up to see a pile of thick military-style folders sitting on top of some of their discarded notes. Another one thuds onto the table as Ed is watching, and then Maes splays his hands on top of them dramatically. Ed looks further up, into Maes’s face, but finds he can’t read the expression there. His lips are pressed into a thin line, and there’s the beginnings of a frown dragging at his brows, but he doesn’t look angry, exactly. Of course, it’s made more difficult by the fact that Maes’s glasses are reflecting the light in that creepy way Maes always manages when he wants to be _mysterious_.

“Maes? Is something wrong?” Roy asks, although he doesn’t sound too worried, just befuddled.

“The fuck are those?” Ed adds, looking back at the stack of folders dubiously.

“These-” Maes proclaims, patting the folders, and then sliding them across the table, closer to Ed and Roy in a very pointed move that threatens to knock some of their books clear off the table. “-are either the crowning glory of my investigative career, or my one-way ticket to an asylum.”

Ed will admit to being very curious, which is probably what Maes had been hoping for. He debates feigning disinterest just to wind Maes up, but curiosity wins out over contrariness, and he reaches for the topmost folder on the stack nearest him. “What are you on about, Maes?” Roy demands, but he’s reaching for a folder, too.

Ed’s folder is… actually _Ed’s_ folder. It’s a painstakingly detailed dossier on Edward Elric, the Fullmetal Alchemist. Not just his military documentation, either, but reports from Roy’s mum and copies of letters he sent to Winry. “The fuck?” He demands.

“Should we be worried?” Roy asks cautiously, and Ed glances over to see the same sort of thing in his own folder. The detailed records of Roy Mustang, the Flame Alchemist. Roy flips through it, mouth pulling into an unhappy line, before glancing up at Maes with concern written across his face.

“Keep reading.” Maes instructs, sitting down and watching them both intently.

Roy obliges, but Ed doesn’t, choosing instead to watch the pair of them. Roy flips open the folder, and goes still, eyebrows flying up, and Ed thinks he sees a flash of barely restrained triumph in Maes’s eyes. Then Roy reaches for the next, and opens that one, too. Since it’s lying flat, Ed can see the Ishvalan script in between the Amestrian translations, and he has a sudden, dawning realisation of what this is. Sure enough, a glance over Roy’s shoulder shows the second folder to be all about one Valentino Sica; bar owner, resistance leader, and unfairly tall motherfucker.

Curiosity drives him to go through his own pile, and sure enough, they’re all there. Specialist First Class Lexi Spitfire’s military record. Tzirre bint Chayim’s life, as told through Ishvalan oral history to a civilian informant, name redacted. The accumulated articles, interviews, and letters written by Oswald Stewart, along with a myriad of arrest reports for things like breaking and entering, trespassing, and civil disturbance.

A sharp indrawn breath from Roy catches Ed’s attention again, and he looks over to see him staring at a file on Knyazhna Tatiana Nikiforova with wide eyes. Ed takes a closer look, concerned, but his worry fades when he realises Roy is staring at a summary in Maes’s own hand exposing a two-centuries-old conspiracy to frame a Drachman diplomat for assassination.

Tanya had never really believed that the whole thing had been planned from the start, never quite let go of the idea that it was some failure on her own part that had destroyed the peace talks. Ed is glad she – he – might finally be able to get closure. He elbows Roy gently, and smirks when the man’s eyes land on him. “Fucking told you so.” He announces.

Roy blinks twice, and then laughs helplessly, bringing a hand up to press his fingers into his eyes.

“So I’m not crazy.” Maes announces, leaning back in his chair with a contented sigh.

Roy snorts. “Well, _that’s_ debatable.” He mutters, and Maes grins, contentment bleeding into smugness in an instant. “But you’re no more crazy than usual.” Roy capitulates, looking back down at the folder in his hands. “How on _earth_ did you pull this together, though?”

“Ed may have given me a few hints.” Maes acknowledges. At Roy’s raised eyebrow, he elaborates. “He gave me a list of historically significant events or people as his reasons for how he knew we were – allegedly – planning a coup.”

Roy glances over at Ed, curious and fond and wondering. Ed gives him a deadpan stare in return, even though he’s trying very hard not to laugh. “I don’t think either of us have managed to get through a single lifetime without getting involved in politics, government, a revolution, or some combination of the three.”

“Malka and Tzirre weren’t-” Roy begins thoughtfully.

“You were a _mullah_ , and literally the only reason most of our village survived that famine. That’s _governing_ , right there.” Ed counters. “And I’m pretty sure arguing that ‘but there’s no such thing as god’ in a religiously led community counts as _politics_.”

“Oh, was _that_ what your point was?” Roy drawls, rolling his eyes heavenward.

“That was the basic point, yeah.” Ed retorts, grinning knife-sharp and daring. “Everything else followed on from that. Because it’s only once you’ve established that the entire concept of ‘god’ is bullshit that you need an explanation for Ishvala’s supposed ‘divinity’. And _then_ you can lead people to the _obvious_ conclusion.”

“ _Stop_.” Roy insists, massaging his temples like he’s getting a headache. Ed cackles at him, but doesn’t press the point. He can understand Roy’s discomfort with that old familiar argument, in light of things that had happened in this lifetime, so he isn’t going to push the issue. “I still don’t understand how you got from ‘certain historical events’ to ‘reincarnation’.” Roy states, stubbornly going back to the original subject.

Maes gives him a look, and then taps the next folder on Roy’s pile. Roy frowns at him, but picks it up. It takes Ed a moment to sort out the timeline in his head and work out which lifetime that folder must be about. Going by the lack of change in Roy’s grim expression as he opens it, he’d already figured it out. “Klaus Fennek, who assassinated a general over the death of his lover in Cameron.” Maes announces, and then gives Ed a pointed look. Ed blinks at him, uncomprehending. “Klaus Fennek, who grew up in the slums of Central, right around the place where a certain brothel is now.”

And Ed remembers, all those years ago, making a stupid, off-hand comment that he hadn’t even expected Madame Christmas to _hear_ , let alone _remember_. “Holy shit.” He breathes.

“What?” Roy asks, looking over at him.

“It was just- I realised there was a fucking _brothel_ in that old wreck we used to sleep in when it got cold cause it had a working fireplace, and I was thinking how you would’ve found that so stupidly funny if you knew, and I didn’t expect Chris to fucking _hear_ me.” Ed explains, indignant and wondering and incredulous all at once. “What the fuck?”

Maes chuckles. “That was the tipping point. When I remembered that, I started looking a bit closer at the other major players you’d mentioned. The Knyazhna’s speeches sound _just like yours_ , Roy, when you really get going, and Sentinel’s letters to her father over the whole business?” Maes shoots Ed a significant look, and Ed glowers belligerently back. So he’s had a useless fucking distant asshole for a father in more than one lifetime. It’s not his fault, and he’s _not sorry_ for calling it like it fucking is.

“Ah.” Roy says, and reaches out to nudge Ed’s hair out of his face in a gesture that is painfully reminiscent of Tanya. Ed leans into it with a huffy sigh, reluctantly allowing it to soothe some of his ire. “Yes, that does seem to be a bit of a theme for you, doesn’t it?”

“Synchronicity _bullshit_.” Ed grumbles.

“Synchronicity?” Maes echoes curiously.

“Don’t fucking ask me to explain it, it’s unscientific bullshit, but it fucking happens, so-” Ed shrugs irritably. “It’s basically coincidences lining up so beautifully over centuries that you just _know_ it’s not a fucking coincidence, and _yet_ , there’s no other explanation. And it’s bullshit.”

“I think it’s just souls being drawn to the familiar, whether we remember or not.” Roy corrected.

“You’re saying it’s somehow _your_ fault Chris picked _that_ building?” Ed challenges.

Roy smirks at him, and Ed’s eyes widen. “Yes, actually. She had to move once she took me in, since at the time she was living in a one-room apartment that was also, ah, her workplace. She decided to open up her own business, and took me with her to inspect the places, since she wasn’t going to leave me alone in a place like that. I don’t actually remember this, but by her account, we walked into that place, and I immediately went and sat down by the fireplace. She said it was the first time I’d looked anything other than blank since the accident.”

“Huh.” Ed says. “Okay, that makes it slightly less bullshit. Still annoying though.”

“Of course.” Roy agrees indulgently.

Maes snorts at them. “Of course, it wasn’t until Madame Christmas’s ‘thank god we’re not dead’ party that I actually really _believed_ the crazy theory I was putting together in the back of my mind.” He acknowledges, looking supremely amused.

“I thought you were being suspiciously circumspect about all that.” Roy groans.

The innocent look that Maes aims at him isn’t believable at all. Roy glares at him and Maes gives up the pretence and just beams at him, unrepentant. “I didn’t want to call you on it until I had _all_ the evidence lined up to drown you in.” Roy sighs like Maes is trying his last shred of patience, but there’s a smile pulling at the corner of his lips no matter how hard he tries to fight it. “There were a couple I just couldn’t figure out, though.” Maes admits, pulling a couple of files out of the stacks and handing them over.

Ed takes the one offered to him curiously. It’s so thin he’d almost thought it was empty, but there’s one sheet of paper inside, bearing an impressively thorough list of all the people identified as being part of the Riviere Traders. Next to each of the names are dates of birth and death, some of which are crossed out. Roy leans over Ed’s shoulder to look at it, his own folder held unopened in his far hand.

“I don’t think I’m on there.” He says finally, sounding smug.

Ed snickers. “You never did get caught.”

“Not even posthumously.” Roy agrees.

Maes makes an unintelligible noise of frustration. “Seriously? I did all that work for _nothing_?” Roy does that obnoxious, arrogant fake-laugh of his, Ed elbows him, and he shoulders Ed right back. Maes ignores their byplay entirely. “What about you, Ed? Please tell me _you’re_ on there.”

“Nah.” Ed shakes his head, grinning at the way Maes slumps pathetically. “I wasn’t one of the Traders. I was the poor bastard that got stuck looking after the kids. Oh!” He says as he remembers, and turns to Roy. He’s still leaning over Ed’s shoulder, so it puts their faces very close together. “I meant to tell you! Remember Perry?”

Roy tips his head in thought, and then brightens. “Yes, I recall.”

“That was Nina.”

Roy stares at him for a long moment, and then closes his eyes and rests his forehead against Ed’s temple. “Clara was Alphonse, then, I take it?” He asks, and his voice has gone tight and pained.

“Hey, stop that.” Ed chides, leaning into him. “So was Meir.”

That takes Roy aback for a moment, but then he huffs a little laugh. “Of course.”

“Wait, wait.” Maes interrupts, dragging both of their gazes back to him. He looks entirely thrown by something, and Ed feels very smug about it, even though he doesn’t even know what they said to put that look on his face. “Al and _Nina_?”

“Oh. Yeah.” Ed confirms. “That was my reaction, too, but…” He shrugs. “They’ll be good for each other.” He says it with the confidence gained from having watched Perry and Meir fall in love all those hundreds of years ago. It took them _forever_ , years and _years_ of ridiculous pining and shyness and awkward, awkward flirting, but they got there in the end.

“They will.” Roy agrees, and then laughs. “Oh, good lord. I hope we don’t have to watch them dance around each other for quite as long this time.”

“We are.” Ed says, shaking his head. “Al’s decided he’s not going to do anything about it, ever, because he thinks that even when she’s grown up, she’ll still look up to him enough that he’ll fee like he’s pressuring her. So he’s going to pine ridiculously like he did back then, and Nina’s going to be just as oblivious and-” Ed flaps a hand in frustrated fondness.

“Some things never change.” Roy sighs, amused and exasperated all in one.

“Well, at least Al isn’t terrified of you, this time.”

“He wasn’t last time.”

“He was too.”

“Meir was far more intimidated by you.”

“Intimidated, sure. But he figured out I was all bark so long as Perry liked him. He was still half-convinced _you_ were going to take him out into the desert and bury him alive if he so much as said a cross word to Perry even after they were _married_.” Ed countered, rolling his eyes. Then he caught a glimpse of the look on Roy’s face, and elbowed him. “Don’t look so fucking smug, bastard.”

Roy cleared his throat, and entirely failed at wiping the expression off his face. Then Ed caught sight of the strange look Maes was giving them and raised his eyebrows at the man. He grinned faintly and shook his head. “It’s just strange.”

“Which _part_?” Ed retorted wryly.

“I was thinking how odd it is to realise that the pair of you have raised kids together already.” Maes explains. “I’m so used to Roy being the hopeless bachelor, but now here you two are, talking about kids you’ve watched grow up and find their own soulmates, and I’m thinking ‘oh god, that’s going to be Elysia one day’ and… it’s very strange.”

Roy snorts. “It is, isn’t it?” He asks, which makes Maes laugh helplessly.

“But it’s a good kind of strange.” Maes relents. “Knowing that soulmates are real, and that… that death might be _an_ end, but it’s not _the_ end, and whatever comes, no one has to face it entirely alone? That’s… good to know.”

Ed glances at Roy before he can stop himself, only to find Roy already looking at him, that ridiculously soft, sappy look on his face again. “Yeah.” Roy says, because Ed’s voice has gotten lost somewhere along with his breath. Honestly, there’s nothing much more to say, because Ed thinks that Maes summed it up pretty damn well, even if ‘good’ is still a fucking understatement. He wonders, for a moment, what their next lives will be like. He doubts they’ll remember, figures all these memories will get folded back into the hidden places in their souls for the next go around, but…

Maybe they won’t _know_ they know, but they’ll know. They’ll bumble around, relearning how to walk and talk, with a new name and a new face and a new _life_ , and they won’t remember to marvel at it all, to compare it all to everything that came before, but they’ll still find each other in the end, because their souls resonate at the same frequency, and they don’t need lifetimes worth of proof to look at someone and just _know_.

“Oh, just kiss already.” Maes complains, throwing a crumpled up ball of paper at them, and then standing to collect all of his files.

“As if _you_ have any right to criticise.” Roy retorts, while Ed’s face turns crimson.

“Speaking of my _fabulous_ wife, she told me to tell you that you’re all invited to dinner tomorrow.” Maes deflects blithely. “Al as well, of course.”

Ed clears his throat. “We’ll be there. Now fuck off and let us enjoy our date.”

“A date. In a _library_.” Maes sighs, shaking his head like he despairs for the pair of them.

“The library is a _perfect_ place for a date.” Ed counters, feeling like he has to step up and keep libraries from being so viciously maligned.

“I once proposed in a library.” Roy comments, playing up the blissful, besotted smile as he gazes dreamily into the distance. Maes scoffs at him.

So does Ed. “Excuse you, _I_ proposed in a library.”

“You did _not_. You just made snarky comments until _I asked_.”

“But I said it _first_. It was _my_ ‘proposal’.”

“Grumpy muttering at a book does _not_ count as making a proposal!”

“Sure it does! That’s how all the best ideas get thought up!”

“Are you saying marrying me was one of your best ideas?”

“Damn straight it was.”

Maes pauses, files back in his arms, to shake his head at them again. “Definitely soulmates.” He comments dryly. “And now I’m going to get back to _my_ soulmate, who _isn’t_ an insane person who thinks a library is a good place for a date. Not that I wouldn’t adore spending time with her no matter the location, of course, but-”

“Oh my god, just _go_!” Ed yelps, and Maes goes, laughing obnoxiously the whole way.


End file.
